by Alex Kings
Up ahead, the distance between them and the shuttle was closing rapidly. In front of it, the surface of the Afanc rose up like a giant wall. Miller began to count down to a jump – a few seconds to go before they were close enough. The Black Cat continued to fire. The CIC shook. One of Lanik's displays said they'd lost a sublight engine.
Two seconds.
The shuttle was only a few hundred metres away.
One.
The jump engines fired. In front of them – and in front of the shuttle – the wall of the Afanc twisted away like the reflection in the disturbed surface of a pond, revealing a view of space at their destination. The new wormhole mouth flew at them, taking the shuttle and the Dauntless together.
The bulkheads groaned at the compression phase, the expansion phase – and then they were in empty space, away from the Afanc, as the wormhole closed behind them.
Without missing a beat, Fermi pulled the ship to the side, and the Dauntless flew past the shuttle, missing it by a few tens of metres.
They'd done it, Lanik realised. He looked around the CIC. Half the lights were flickering – a power interruption somewhere. Somewhere off in the distance, a bulkhead creaked.
“Get a damage report,” he ordered. “And bring the shuttle aboard.” If there's a shuttlebay left, he thought.
Chapter 32: We Do Have a Sickbay, You Know
Hanson walked the aft corridors of the Dauntless with Lanik, surveying the initial damage report on an extended tablet. He'd just come the shuttle bay, and Lanik had brought him up to speed.
One of the four sublight engines irreparably damaged, fractures running all the way through it. Another undergoing repairs. Three aft sections not just depressurised, but open to space. Close to half the laser turrets scoured off. Aft gun shattered. Numerous stress fractures in some main structural members.
Not wanting to see any more, he lowered the tablet and glanced to his side where the wall of the corridor had torn away, exposing pipes and wiring on the other side.
“When I gave this ship to you, Mr. Lanik,” he said slowly, “It had just been repaired.”
“I'm aware of that, sir,” said Lanik.
“But thank you. Without you, We'd be on our way to a SIS holding cell by now. Or a cloud of rapidly-cooling plasma.” Hanson sighed. “But I have to ask, why didn't you hand us in?”
“Honestly, sir? I very nearly did.”
Hanson turned and looked at Lanik. Now he could – at last – see something in the man's expression. Lanik looked pained, uncertain.
“I met with Operative Serafin, and set up a plan to arrest you once you came out of the shuttle. I was ready to do so until she took her ship out of stealth.”
Hanson considered this. “Well,” he said at last, “I'm glad you made the choice you did.”
“The problem is, I'm still not sure it was the right choice. I may have done it for the greater good … but history is filled with people who have done great harm thinking they were working for the greater good.”
“It's also filled with people who did great harm by following orders without question,” said Hanson. “All I use as a guide is my conscience.” He sighed, recalling the war on the Afanc. “Though perhaps I need to pay better attention to it. Anyway, chatting about morality by itself isn't going to get us anywhere. Next, we're going to Iona.”
“Iona?”
“The colony. I don't have the time to get into it, but that's where the blanks – the hostiles we met – are coming from. I want to find out why. It doesn't seem like we have much of an option anyway.”
Hanson's comm told him a call was incoming from sickbay. “Hanson here,” he answered. “What is it?”
Dr. Sorrel's voice came from the other end of the line: “You said your team was injured? A couple of them haven't shown up.”
“Who?”
“The mercenaries.”
“Of course,” said Hanson. “I'll see what I can do about it.” He turned his comm off, then said to Lanik, “Pass on the order: Plot a course to Iona.”
“Yes, sir,” said Lanik.
With that, Hanson turned off the corridor and went to look for Agatha and Srak.
He found them in their temporary quarters. The door had been left open. Srak sat with four limbs on the ground, back hinged up at the middle joint, and held out his giant left arm. It was bleeding from a dozen or more holes. Agatha, sitting cross-legged beside him, was extracting a ragged lump of grenade shrapnel from his arm with a pair of pliers in her left hand. She'd left her shirt bunched up on the floor below. On her bare shoulder, the skin around the wound was slicked with blood and sweat and dirt. The whole room smelt sour.
“We do have a sickbay, you know,” Hanson said.
Agatha ignored him until the piece of shrapnel had come out. It was twisted, half an inch wide and the base and two inches long. “Uh-huh,” she said, dropping the piece amongst a collection of others on a stained rag. Evidently Varanid blood was as red as human.
Agatha went in for another piece, then stopped and stared at Hanson. “Shit,” she said. “You know, I actually didn't? I mean, I did, but … we've been doing this long I didn't think about it.” She dropped the pliers on a floor with a clank and continued, “What do you think, big guy? Some proper medical treatment for a change?”
Srak glanced over at Hanson – the first time he'd acknowledged his existence since he arrived – and shrugged. “I'm happy to stay here,” he said.
“Oh, don't be an idiot,” Agatha said, standing. For the first time since Hanson had met her, she looked exhausted and frustrated. She wiped the blood and grease from her hands onto her trousers, then edged out of the room.
Srak growled slightly and followed. Outside, he took up nearly the entire width of the corridor.
“There's something else,” said Hanson. He offered his tablet to them both as they walked down the corridor. “You've got arrest warrants from the SIS.”
Agatha skimmed the file. “Are you bloody kidding me?” she said, then closed her eyes and sighed.
“The SIS is human,” said Srak. “They can't arrest me. Or Yilva.”
“They can,” said Hanson. “I checked. They have special dispensation from the Varanid Republic and the Albascene.”
Srak looked at the tablet again more carefully then growled.
“Great,” said Agatha. “So even if we get off this tub, everyone's gonna be after us.”
“You're the one who wanted the job,” Srak told her.
Agatha gave him a long, silent glare, then turned back to Hanson. “So what now?”
Honestly, Hanson didn't know. He'd hoped he could let them off at the next stop, pay them for services rendered, and drop the whole matter. They crew would be happier with that solution. He'd probably be happier with that solution.
“Nothing else to do,” he said. We keep going. See this through to the end. I could still use your skills.”
Agatha shrugged.
“But if we are going to keep going, I need to be clear about something. What happened with Vance –”
“Oh, bloody hell,” snapped Agatha. “Not this again.”
“I don't expect military discipline from you,” Hanson said. “I don't even expect it from myself, to be honest. But if you're going to be on my team, you need to rein in your impulses a bit. Whether you count me as your captain or employer, it doesn't matter.”
They passed through another corridor which had been torn down its length. Srak and Agatha were silent for a while, until Agatha said at last, “Fine. Let's just get this thing over and done with so we can go home.”
Srak grunted as a sort of agreement as they reached sickbay.
Dr. Sorrel was a tall man with prematurely white hair, narrow spectacles and a scratchy voice. As Hanson and the mercenaries entered, he was talking to Sergeant Moore, who leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. On one of the three beds, Specialist Newman was sat, reading on a tablet, with some bulky apparatus connected to his leg under the she
ets. A young staff nurse was checking the drip.
When they arrived, Dr. Sorrel looked over at them. “Ah, here they are at last! Let's see, then.”
Srak held up his forward arm. “They go down the side a bit too.”
If the doctor was perturbed by this, he didn't show it. “And you?” he said to Agatha.
She pointed to her shoulder. “That's it. Nothing else.”
Sorrel nodded, then looked back to Srak, “I'm not up-to-date on Varanid physiology, but I know you're tough. Any of those likely to get infected?”
“No,” said Srak. “They won't even scar. Unless I try to tear them out with my teeth, that is.”
“You first, then,” Sorrel told Agatha. “Let's get that looked at.”
Agatha shrugged with her good shoulder and hopped up on the side of the bed.
Hanson, meanwhile, crossed over to the bed where Newman was waiting. “How are you holding up, Specialist?” It was looking more and more likely that Newman would lose his leg; the Glaber bullet had managed to shatter the bone.
Newman smiled. “Okay, sir,” he said. “Good. Mostly 'cause of morphine.” A shadow crossed his expression. “But Corporal Anscomb …”
“I know,” said Hanson. “I'm sorry to hear that.” Now, of course, they wouldn't even have the opportunity of stopping by Tethya to return the body.
“But thank you, Specialist,” he said. “Without you, we might have lost the ship.” He patted the man on the shoulder, and headed for the door.
There, he glanced back briefly to where an irritated-looking Agatha was telling the doctor she was fine without anaesthetic and Srak was showing the staff nurse how to extract the bits in his arm. Then he left the sickbay and headed for the CIC.
Chapter 33: Iona
After a final jump, Hanson watched Iona grow on the displays as the Dauntless limped towards the planet on its three remaining sublight engines. He knew of it, but only in passing.
The planet, a globe of browns and greens overlaid with white cloud patterns and haloed in blue by its atmosphere, wasn't quite Earthlike. Too hot in most regions, too arid, with an overabundance of hydrochloric acid. But near the north pole, the tip of a continent came close to a mediterranean climate. And that was enough to hold the colony, with a population of a little under a million people spread across three settlements. It was out of the way – not a true frontier world, but not one of the populous old colonies either. Just a backwater planet.
It didn't look like the centre of a galactic conspiracy to revive Ancient technology and fast-grow an army of perfectly loyal clones.
But then, thought Hanson, that's the sort of place he'd hide a conspiracy if he had to.
The only things in orbit were a smattering of satellites and a single space station in geosync with all its docking berths empty.
“I think its best we stay away from the docks for the moment,” said Hanson.
Lanik frowned but said nothing.
“Take us into high polar orbit, and add corrections to keep us above the city,” continued Hanson.
“Yes, sir,” said Fermi.
“Miller, send a standard greeting. Say we're just stopping for some leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
One of the advantages of Iona was that, with any luck, it would be at least a day before news of their arrival their would reach the Alliance. That would give them some room to manoeuvre.
“We're getting a hail from the planet,” said Miller. “From the main administration.”
“Put it through to my console,” said Hanson.
A face appeared on one of his displays: A woman with a rose in her blonde, plaited hair, and a slightly archaic-looking suit. “Hello, Captain,” she said warmly. “I'm Mayor Orlov. I welcome you on behalf of Iona.” When Hanson had introduced himself, she asked, “What brings you here? It's not often we get visits from the Alliance Navy.”
“We'd just like to look around,” said Hanson. “I found something on a previous mission that seems to have come from Iona. I don't suppose you could have a look at it?”
“Of course,” said Orlov. “Come down, and I'll happily set aside some time to see you.”
“Thank you, Mayor. See you then.” Hanson signed off the channel.
Once they were in orbit, Hanson said, “The ship is yours, XO. Look after it.”
“I'll do my best, sir,” said Lanik.
Hanson had gone through his plan a few times in his head. The first mission should be purely investigative. Having a team of armoured soldiers running around a backwater colony world wouldn't help at all. But if Iona really was connected to Project Renaissance, then it was entirely possible they'd be attacked.
For his ground team, he'd take Moore, Saito and Yilva. All would go with small arms and discrete armour under their uniforms. Srak and Agatha would wait inside the shuttle, along with proper armour, should they need back up.
“Are you sure that's wise, sir?” Moore asked in the shuttlebay, before the mercenaries arrived. “After what happened on the Afanc?”
“I'm not sure anything I'm doing lately is wise,” said Hanson as he fitted some light body-armour into place. “But … yes, oddly enough. I still trust them. They've done more good than harm.”
Moore didn't seem convinced, but didn't push any further. Once Srak and Agatha arrived, they set off in the shuttle.
Soon after, they hit atmo, the blue-green expanse of planet opened up below them, and the air began to roar faintly through the shuttle's hull.
Agatha knelt on the shuttle's bench and peered out the window behind her. After a few seconds, this seemed to bore her. She settled down on the bench again and scratched idly at her shoulder where the wound had been cleaned.
“Hanson,” she said, “you mind if I have a bit of a walk around? Out on the surface?”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “It's been a while since I was properly outside. The Afanc's just … the Afanc. And on Tethya … it's all just the city. No real ground.”
“Well …” said Hanson. At the very least, this time she was asking rather than just wandering off the moment they got to the planet. That had to be an improvement.
Moore was piloting. She didn't look round but Hanson could see by the way she went tense that didn't really approve. Srak didn't seem too pleased either – he just looked away and growled slightly.
“Come on,” she said. “Don't mess me around. Yes or no. I'll behave.”
“Okay,” he said at last. “But remember, this time we're just looking around. We don't want to kick up a fuss. At least, not yet.”
“Gotcha. Keep the fuss until later.” Agatha gave him a mock-salute.
Outside, they'd passed the cloud layer. Now through the front window, Hanson could see their destination. The primary settlement – Iona City – lay spread out on a rich green plain, colonised by long grasses from Earth, beside a blue ocean spattered with the white crests of waves. The city itself was a hodgepodge collection of geodesic domes amid a few taller, more ornate buildings. Three piers of aquaculture extended into the sea. To the side was a hovercraft port, filled with giant vehicles for the ocean and the plain. Greenhouses and farms gathered behind the city, and a monorail track snaked off into the distance.
Moore piloted the shuttle towards the hovercraft bay where an open field for shuttles and other small craft was situated. It was mostly empty. She lowered the shuttle gently on the grass and flicked the engines off.
Outside, the air was on the comfortable side of walk. The sun, oversized and bluish, seemed to sit too low on the horizon for the time of day. Hanson could feel it warming his skin. As they left the craft, he noticed Agatha, the last to leave, saying something to Srak.
“I'll be fine here,” Srak said. He stretched out to nearly the full length of the shuttle as if he might sleep.
Agatha nodded, jumped out of the shuttle, and Moore closed the doors. Agatha, after looking slightly troubled for a few seconds, took hold of herself. She looked around the wide
open plane, stretched out her arms, took a deep breath and, after walking forward a couple of backs, threw herself backwards on the grass and laughed.
Moore looked down on her with a sort of annoyance at the lack of military bearing, but again said nothing.
“Are you quite done?” Hanson asked.
Agatha nodded. “Yeah, I'm good. It's nice to be planet-side again.” She held out an arm, and Hanson helped her up.
They walked through Iona city together towards the main administration. Houses, micro-factories, workshops and labs lined the street. On one side they passed a set of football pitches. Somewhere else advertised itself in Cyrillic English is a jazz bar. The colonists seemed to wear either variations of the archaic suits Orlov had worn or long dresses in bright colours.
“I admit, this is nicer than the Afanc,” said Moore, then added, “It makes me suspicious.”
Yilva was constantly peering this way and that, taking in the buildings and the people. And she seemed to attract nearly as much attention from the colonists themselves. It was quite possible some of them had never seen an alien in real life before. Hanson, considering this, wondered how much more attention they'd have drawn with Srak in the team.
To their left, they passed one of the larger buildings: Roughly pyramid-shaped, some eight or nine storeys high. A hospital. According to the IL logo over the door, it was owned by Interstellar Liners.
Chapter 34: Orlov
A little way past the hospital, they came to the main government offices of the colony. It seemed smaller and less impressive than the hospital. Inside, an assistant showed them up a flight of stairs and knocked on the first door they came too.
“They're here,” he said.
“Come in, then.”
Mayor Orlov opened the door for them to reveal a small but well-decorated room with a couch and a number of chairs spread across the floor, a desk in the corner, a bookcase covering one wall, and a window looking across the city on the other. She thanked the assistant, closed the door behind him, then turned back.