Wasp Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Right,” said March. “There are three of you on board?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “It’s time to dock and take you and your passengers on board,” said March. “There’s a Eumenidae scoutship approaching, and it will be in firing range in another four and a half minutes.” He glanced at the sensors. “And I see dozens of Eumenidae ships in the system. We need to get out of here.”

  There was a brief, startled pause. “You can detect the alien ships?”

  “Yeah,” said March. “I’ll be happy to give you the details once we get out of here. Where should I dock?”

  “Is your ship a Mercator Foundry Yards Class Twelve freighter?” said Donaghy.

  “Class Nine,” said March. “I’ve got an airlock in the stern cargo ramp and the ventral entrance.”

  The tactical display flashed as Donaghy sent telemetry information. “Our stern airlock. Dock there, and we’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Acknowledged,” said March, sending the Tiger toward the shuttle. He fired the ion thrusters, maneuvering the ship to match the shuttle’s vector. “ETA in seventy seconds. Be ready to move. We need to get the hell out of here.”

  “See you in person soon,” said Donaghy, and he ended the transmission.

  “Vigil,” said March, not looking up from his displays. “Update our hyperspace jump calculation from the shuttle’s location.”

  “Calculations underway,” announced the pseudointelligence. “Recalculating will take two minutes and forty-seven seconds.”

  “That’ll give us thirty-seven seconds to get to hyperspace before the scoutship gets into firing range,” said Adelaide.

  “Yeah,” said March. The timing would be tight. Someone would need to let Donaghy and his two passengers into the ship, and someone would also need to release the Tiger from the shuttle’s airlock and activate the hyperdrive. March thought about sending Adelaide to greet Donaghy and his passengers, but rejected the idea at once. If this turned out to be a trick, if Donaghy was a pirate who had stolen a Royal Calaskaran Navy shuttle, then March would be better equipped to deal with hostile boarders. “Can you handle undocking the ship and jumping to hyperspace?”

  “Yes,” said Adelaide.

  March nodded and adjusted the Tiger’s vector again, maneuvering to turn the Tiger’s stern towards the shuttle’s airlock. “How do you know how to do that?”

  “I am a qualified starship pilot, you know,” said Adelaide. She flashed a quick grin at him. “Also, I had a lot of time to kill on Rustbelt Station. I spent some of that time reading the Tiger’s technical manual.” The smile faded. “Bishop and I weren’t sure if you were going to wake up or not, and it seemed like a good idea to know how to fly the Tiger.”

  “It’s paying off now,” said March. Between his altered genetics, his remaining Machinist nanotech and implants, and the first aid nanobots that Adelaide and Bishop had applied to his wounds, March had healed much faster from his stab wounds than nature would have allowed. Nevertheless, they still ached damnably. “As soon as I tell you it’s clear, undock and go to hyperspace. We can’t stay here.”

  “What about all the people on Vesper’s World?” said Adelaide.

  “We’ll head to Antioch Station as fast as the Tiger can manage,” said March. “We’ll inform the Royal Calaskaran Navy, and they can respond.”

  But, in truth, he thought it was too late. The dark energy detectors had picked up nearly sixty Eumenidae starships in the Vesper system, all of them converging on Vesper’s World. Most of the ships were about the size of the scoutship, but a couple of them were the size of major capital starships, and one of them was huge.

  “All they’ll be able to do is avenge the colonists,” said Adelaide in a quiet voice as March eased the Tiger towards the shuttle’s airlock. “I think the biggest ship is a Eumenidae nestship.”

  “Nestship?” said March, eyes on the radar screen and telemetry information as he eased the Tiger the last few meters to the shuttle.

  “It’s where the Eumenidae queens will be,” said Adelaide. “It’s like...I guess it’s like a combination of a colony ship and a seed. It will land on Vesper’s World and start growing new Wasps and various biological machines for terraforming the planet to Wasp preferences.”

  With a shiver and a clang, the Tiger’s cargo airlock docked with the shuttle’s stern airlock.

  “All right,” said March, jumping out of the pilot’s acceleration chair. “Ready?”

  “Ready when you are,” said Adelaide, taking control of the ship from her console.

  March nodded and ran into the dorsal corridor. He stopped in the armory long enough to grab a plasma pistol and gun belt, and he wound it around his waist as he ran to the cargo bay ladder. If this was a trap, if Alex Donaghy and his friends were not naval officers but hijackers, March wanted to be ready for them.

  He slid down the ladder and into the cargo bay, which was empty at the moment, making it seem cavernous and vast. The Tiger’s only passenger was Dr. Adelaide Taren, and the only cargo was the relics she had found on Xenostas, which were currently locked in the ship’s strong room. That was something he wasn’t going to mention to the rescued naval officers. March didn’t know how many officers in the Royal Navy knew about the Machinists’ Wraith devices and the relics of the Great Elder Ones, but he was willing to bet that most of those officers had flag ranks.

  March came to a stop in front of the cargo ramp’s built-in airlock. He checked that the seals were green and that no biological or nanotech contaminants had been detected. One last check to make sure that his pistol was ready in its holster, and he triggered the door. The outer door cycled, and then the inner door, and a gust of hot air came from the shuttle and into the Tiger’s cargo bay. The smell of smoke followed. The shuttle had indeed taken damage.

  “Captain March?” came Donaghy’s voice.

  “Let’s go!” said March, stepping back from the airlock. “We need to move! We’ve got more Wasp ships inbound.”

  Clangs came from the smoky room on the shuttle.

  “We are coming,” said Donaghy, and he walked into sight. He was a middle-aged Calaskaran naval officer, fit but with the slightly thick appearance of a staff officer. He wore a blue naval uniform with a captain’s bars, and a survival pack slung over his shoulder. That was good – the men had thought to bring vital supplies with them. A half-step after him came a young man, no more than his middle twenties, in a crisp blue uniform with the rank insignia of an ensign upon his collar. After them came…

  March blinked in surprise.

  The third man wore the rank insignia of a Lord Admiral of the Royal Calaskaran Navy.

  He was in late middle age, with a small pot belly that the cut of his uniform coat could not quite conceal. Nevertheless, his arms were thick from heavy exercise, and muscle corded his neck. The Lord Admiral was balding, his graying black hair cut down to stubble, and he had heavy-lidded brown eyes with dark circles beneath them. March felt the weight of the gaze and the mind behind it. The Lord Admiral was obviously a man accustomed to command.

  March wondered just what the hell a Lord Admiral was doing on a shuttle in the Vesper system.

  But he could worry about it later.

  “That everyone?” said March, stepping to the airlock control panel.

  “It is,” said Donaghy.

  March hit the airlock control. The doors slid shut, and then he keyed the intercom control for the flight cabin. “They’re aboard. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Adelaide. A faint shiver went through the deck as the Tiger pulled away from the shuttle.

  “Gentlemen, please wait here,” said March, turning towards the ladder to the dorsal corridor. “Once we’ve made it to hyperspace, we can talk more.”

  “Of course,” said Donaghy. The Lord Admiral said nothing, his eyes still on March. The young ensign hovered next to the admiral. Likely he was the flag officer’s adjutant.

  “Sir,” said th
e ensign. “Shouldn’t we...”

  “There’s a Wasp scoutship after us,” said March, not looking as he ran across the cargo bay. “We’re doing an emergency hyperjump to get away, and after that, we can decide what to do next.”

  He glanced back as he scrambled up the ladder. Donaghy and the ensign both looked at the Lord Admiral, and he gave a brief nod. March gave them no further thought as he pulled himself into the dorsal corridor. As he did, a shiver went through the deck, and the corridor lights flickered.

  The Tiger had just entered hyperspace. They were safe for the moment.

  March walked into the flight cabin. Adelaide still sat at the co-pilot’s station, the blue light from the holograms playing across her face.

  “We’ve got our new friends on board?” said Adelaide, reaching for the hyperdrive power levers.

  “Yeah,” said March. She grasped the levers and tugged, and the hyperdrive cut out. The Tiger returned to normal space in the interstellar void, far from the Eumenidae ships now swarming through the Vesper system. March dropped into the pilot’s acceleration chair and keyed for a scan with all sensors at maximum power. That would make the Tiger stand out like a beacon, but he wanted to make sure that none of the Wasps had followed them.

  They hadn't. The Tiger was utterly alone.

  “I need to show you something,” said March. “We might have another problem.”

  “What is it?” said Adelaide.

  He brought up the control program for the internal security cameras and opened the live feeds from the cargo bay. Donaghy, the Lord Admiral, and the ensign stood near the cargo airlock.

  “Do you recognize the man in the admiral’s uniform?” said March.

  “Admiral?” said Adelaide, startled. She brought up the live feed on her own display and zoomed in. “That’s not just an admiral, that’s a Lord Admiral. And...”

  Her voice trailed off, and then her eyes went wide.

  “Holy shit,” she said.

  “What?” said March.

  “Jack, that’s Lord Admiral Theodoric Stormreel,” said Adelaide.

  “You know him?” said March. A memory scratched at his mind. He had read through the records about Adelaide that Censor had sent him, and she had grown up in a small town near Stormreel City on Calaskar. The Duke of Stormreel was one of the most powerful nobles on Calaskar, with a large, rich, and well-connected family.

  “I don’t know him personally, but I know of him,” said Adelaide. “He’s the Lord Admiral of the Seventh Fleet. What the hell is he doing on a shuttle in the Vesper system?”

  “I don’t know,” said March. “We’re about to find out.” He thought for a moment. “We had better go to talk to him. Don’t mention the relics in the strong room.” Adelaide nodded. “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “The one-minute summary, you mean?” said Adelaide, getting to her feet.

  “You did tell me that it’s been a long time since you taught undergraduates, so you needed to keep in practice,” said March.

  Adelaide smiled. “Yes, that’s right. You remembered.” The smile faded. “But Theodoric Stormreel...he’s the Lord Admiral of the Seventh Fleet. I don’t know much about him, only what’s common knowledge. But there’s a lot of common knowledge about him. He was the youngest son of old Duke Carolus Stormreel. No one expected him to amount to much, and he went into the Navy. But he’s...”

  March waited.

  “Mad,” she said. “Mad and brilliant. And personally unpleasant. Apparently he likes to give odd little psychological tests to his subordinates, and claims those insights let him map a path to victory.”

  “The Royal Navy doesn’t like mad and brilliant,” said March. “They like officers who follow orders and respect traditions.”

  “Yeah,” said Adelaide, “but they also like to win, and Lord Admiral Stormreel has won a lot of battles. He started out commanding a corvette, and he destroyed a Kezredite raiding force that ought to have wiped out some of the new colonies near the Nova Roma system. He’s won battles against the Ninevehk, the pantherax, raiders from the Falcon Republic, and...Jack, he was in command at Martel’s World. The Seventh Fleet was the force that broke the back of the Machinists.”

  “I see,” said March, his left hand coiling into a fist before he could stop himself. He had his own memories of Martel’s World, all of them bad.

  But the past was done, and Martel’s World was ashes.

  “So what the hell is the Lord Admiral of the Seventh Fleet doing on a shuttle with a captain and an ensign?” said March.

  “And when the Eumenidae are about to destroy Vesper’s World?” said Adelaide.

  They looked at each other.

  “Guess we had better find out,” said March.

  Adelaide nodded, and they stepped into the dorsal corridor. March locked and sealed the door to the flight cabin behind him. He didn’t think Lord Admiral Stormreel and Captain Donaghy would try to take over the ship by force, but he’d been wrong before. Given that Stormreel would have the legal authority to commandeer any privateer ship, he wouldn’t need force. That was an uneasy thought. March had twenty quantum inducers and the Firestone sitting in the strong room, and he needed to get the relics to Calaskar before the Machinists had a chance to seize them.

  Of course, perhaps the Wasps wanted a crack at the relics as well.

  “I wish I had time to fix my hair and put on nicer clothes,” said Adelaide.

  March blinked. “You do?”

  “My mother would be appalled if she found out I met a Lord Admiral without wearing a nice dress,” said Adelaide.

  “Given that we just rescued him from the Wasps,” said March, “I’m sure he’ll overlook the lapse.”

  She grinned at him. “It’s silly, isn’t it, the things we sometimes worry about in a crisis?” The smile faded, and he saw her put her game face back on. “Because this is a crisis.”

  “Yeah,” said March. “Let’s find out what happens next.”

  Together they walked to the ladder and descended to the cargo bay. Stormreel, Donaghy, and the ensign waited near the cargo airlock. Donaghy looked grim, the ensign appeared flustered, and Stormreel was...March wasn’t sure. He found it hard to read the admiral. The ensign looked even more flustered, probably from Adelaide’s presence. The men of the Royal Navy could go a long time without seeing a woman.

  “We’ve escaped,” said March without preamble. “The ship’s pseudointelligence was already calculating an emergency jump when we picked up your distress call. We’re just outside the Vesper system, and there aren’t any Wasp starships nearby.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, captain,” said Stormreel. His voice was deep but rather nasal. It was not a voice made for delivering rousing speeches. “I believe introductions are in order. You’ve met my chief staff officer, Captain Alex Donaghy. This is Ensign Daniel Jordan, my adjutant. My name is Theodoric Stormreel, and I am the Lord Admiral of the Seventh Fleet of the Royal Calaskaran Navy. You, I believe, are Captain Jack March. Who’s the girl?”

  “Adelaide Taren,” said March. “My co-pilot.”

  “Co-pilot,” said Stormreel in a dry voice.

  March was beginning to see what Adelaide had meant about Stormreel’s personal unpleasantness.

  “And girlfriend,” said March.

  Adelaide blinked, smiled at him, and then her calm mask returned.

  “I see,” said Stormreel. “Do you have a location where we can speak, Captain March? I suspect the five of us have a great deal to discuss. The Eumenidae have a nestship on a vector for Vesper’s World, and if we do not act swiftly, fifteen million people are going to die in the next week, and many more soon after.”

  Chapter 3: The Path To Victory

  March led the way up the ladder and to the Tiger’s galley.

  He supposed the Tiger’s cramped galley was an inauspicious place to meet with a Lord Admiral of the Royal Calaskaran Navy, but Stormreel did not appear to care. He seated himself at the head o
f the table. Donaghy sat on the left side, and March and Adelaide sat on the right. Ensign Jordan hovered at the admiral’s elbow.

  “Ensign,” said Stormreel. “Coffee, please. For the four of us, and then yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jordan, swallowing as he looked at the kitchen equipment.

  “Coffee maker’s there, mugs are there,” said March, pointing. “There’s a full pot yet.”

  “Thank you, captain,” said Jordan, and he set to work.

  “Now,” said Stormreel. “We must decide what is to be done.”

  “Yes,” said March, wondering what to do about the problem the Lord Admiral’s presence had created.

  As a Lord Admiral of the Royal Navy, Stormreel had the right to take command of any privateer ships and enroll them as part of his force. And if he did that, it could be disastrous. March had a strong room full of relics of the Great Elder Ones, and those artifacts might fall into the wrong hands. There were Machinist sympathizers among the Navy, despite the vigilant efforts of the Ministry of Security and the Silent Order to root them out.

  For that matter, if Stormreel realized that March and Adelaide were part of the Silent Order, that could be just as disastrous. Most of the rank-and-file and junior officers of the Navy were aware of the Order’s existence but indifferent to it. Many of the flag officers loathed the Order and considered it a distraction from their work of defending the Kingdom of Calaskar. March didn’t know what Stormreel thought about the Order, and he wished there had been a chance to contact Censor before this meeting.

  “Now,” said Stormreel as Jordan set cups of coffee upon the table, “before we begin, I wish to satisfy my curiosity on a single point. I am grateful for your timely rescue. By bad luck, our hyperjump deposited us in the middle of that Wasp patrol. Nonetheless, I am curious as to how you found yourself at that point in space.”

  March shrugged. “Luck. We exited hyperspace near a Eumenidae scoutship. We fought our way clear of its fighter screen and were about to jump to the Antioch system when we picked up your distress call.”

  “I see,” said Stormreel. “What was your business in the Vesper system?”