Duty, Honor, Planet: 02 - Honor Bound

by Rick Partlow

  Half a dozen armored security troops were clustered uncertainly in the corridor outside the hatch, milling around in the uncertain leadership of a Tech-Sergeant who’d obviously never confronted this sort of circumstance before. McKay shoved off from the edge of the access tube hatch then stopped himself against the far wall by the hatch, in the midst of the security.

  “Is there any way to communicate with him?” McKay demanded of the Sergeant.

  “The intercom should still work, sir,” the Sergeant waved at a panel on the wall next to the door.

  “Good.” He touched his ‘link and called Security. “Lt. James, be ready to open the hatch on my word.”

  “Yes, sir, Colonel,” James responded.

  “Antonov,” McKay said, hitting the speaker control. “This is McKay.”

  There was a long pause and McKay thought maybe it was too late, but then the speaker made a scratchy hiss as someone inside the engineering section activated it. “So, you’ve figured it out, McKay.” The voice was Mironov’s, but the mannerism, the tone…they were very familiar to McKay from historical recordings and from the brief time he’d spent with Sergei Antonov. “You’re more intelligent than I gave you credit for. Although that wouldn’t be too difficult.”

  “I think I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on, General,” McKay replied, ignoring the barb. “You gave me the hint yourself. The ‘rumor’ you heard about duplicating people with the alien technology. At first, when I pieced together that it was you, I thought you’d had restruct surgery, changed your looks. But you would never take that big a risk with your life…unless you had more than one life to risk. You’ve copied yourself and you figured out a way to give the copy your memories.”

  “And that’s not the end of it, is it, Colonel?” Antonov’s voice was playful, taunting.

  “No,” McKay agreed grimly. “There’s no way you could have known we’d capture you on that ship…so, at a guess, there are multiple copies of you. One in each system maybe? One on every ship even?” He remembered his conversation with Podbyrin about why Antonov hadn’t used more ships in the invasion. “Just in the last couple years I’d imagine, to make sure your ship captains don’t get any ideas. And you even went to the trouble of hypno-imprinting each of them to resist chemical interrogation. “

  “Well, you are the bright boy,” Mironov/Antonov cackled. “And do you know the wonderful thing about being effectively immortal, Colonel McKay? That I don’t even care that this body will be atomized when my ships and missiles catch up with it.”

  “But you know I do, General. You know I’m going to have to open that door and come in and try to set things right, don’t you? So, the question is, would you rather kill a couple of engineering officers before I put a bullet in you, or would you rather surrender and get to watch us go through the futility of trying to get out of this alive?”

  McKay glanced up as the Security Sergeant-his name tab read “Aubrey”- motioned for him, then shut down the voice pickup for the door speaker and pushed over to the man. “Sir,” Aubrey said, holding up his tablet, “we got the visual feed back up.”

  McKay took the tablet from him and saw that Mironov/Antonov was against the far wall of the chamber, one arm around the neck of a female engineering officer, a gun-a real firearm, not a stunner-held to her head. The others floated helplessly, their hands and feet secured by rigging tape and strips of it across their mouths.

  “You present an intriguing argument, McKay,” the Russian admitted, a smirk on his face that McKay felt an irresistible urge to wipe off with a punch. “But I think that smacks of making things far too easy on you.”

  “How about this, then?” McKay suggested, keeping his voice light despite the savage grimace on his face. “You move away from the hostages and I come in the door alone. You get the chance to take a shot at me, and we’ll finish what we started on the bridge of your flagship.”

  “McKay,” he heard a voice in his ear from the ‘link. “It’s Patel. Keep him distracted. We’ve launched shuttles to recover the antimatter fuel canisters; hopefully we can get them back on board before their integral batteries run out of power for the containment fields.”

  “Ah, McKay,” Antonov laughed. “You do know how to reach my heart. I will tell you what, Colonel, I will do this. You may come in…just you, hands empty. I will stay where I am, and I will have a hostage, just to insure it is just you. You will shut the door behind you and I will seal it, and then we can talk.”

  “Don’t do it, sir,” Vinnie whispered behind him. McKay started; he hadn’t realized Mahoney had come up behind him while he was talking to Antonov. “He’ll kill them anyway.”

  “Of course he will,” McKay agreed, muting the speaker. “But at least this gets me inside.” He pulled his 10mm from its belt holster and checked the load. “And I’m sure as hell not going in empty-handed either.” He hit the speaker control again. “All right, Sergei, I agree to your terms. I’m coming in, alone.”

  “I await you with baited breath, tovarisch.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” McKay said as Jock came up behind Vinnie, a carbine cradled in his arms-he’d made a stop by the ship’s armory along the way, apparently. “When that door opens, we’re going to be against the wall over there.” He pointed to the section of bulkhead opposite the vacuum hatch. “I’m going to go inside first and draw his fire, and Sergeant Aubrey, you are going to keep that door open-do not let Mironov close it. Jock and Vinnie, you two will follow me after a count of two and if I haven’t done it already, you will take him out, no matter how many people you have to shoot through to do it. Are we clear?”

  “Got it, sir,” Jock confirmed. Vinnie looked as if he wanted to argue, but he knew it was useless, so he just moved over to the wall opposite the door.

  “You ready, Sergeant?” McKay asked the Security NCO as he moved into position.

  “Yes, sir,” Aubrey confirmed with a nod, looking at his tablet. “He’s still against the far wall. It’s about ten meters from the hatch, sir.”

  “It’s gotta be a trap of some kind,” Vinnie muttered, a sour expression on his face.

  “It doesn’t need to be,” Jock pointed out, his voice and manner as calm and matter-of-fact as if this were a training exercise. “We’re surrounded by enemy ships, in the middle of their home system, our antimatter is ejected and our reactor is shut down. What the hell does he care if he dies now or when we blow up?”

  “Open the door,” McKay ordered, gritting his teeth, bracing his feet against the wall.

  Sergeant Aubrey touched a control and the vacuum hatch slid open, then McKay sprang away from the wall and floated towards the door. He had time to think I wish I’d done more zero-g combat training before we left, and then he was through the hatch, his 10mm held in front of his chest in an Isosceles stance.

  McKay had heard others who’d been in combat describe the feeling of time slowing down for them: tachypsychia the experience was called. They could describe in great detail every second of a firefight, see every move they’d made in their head. McKay had been in combat more than most Marine officers, much less Intelligence officers, but he could barely remember a second of any firefight he’d ever experienced. Flashes of blood and gut-punches of fear that threatened to turn to panic were the only memories he had, though nightmares sometimes revealed more details.

  This was no different. It was so fast he didn’t have a conscious idea of what was happening even as it happened. He yelled “Antonov!” to distract the man, to get the gun pointed at him instead of the hostage, but he couldn’t tell if it worked. He couldn’t see the gleeful, delighted smirk on Antonov’s unfamiliar face as the Russian started shooting, and he wouldn’t remember the panicked tears on the face of the apprentice engineer that the duplicate was using as a human shield. All he would recall was a silhouette-like outline of a human head in the electronic pop-up sight of his pistol and the recoil of the 10mm driving him backwards towards the corner of the room.
>
  He did see a haze of blood misting off the entangled figures of Antonov and the apprentice engineer, but before he could determine from whom the blood had come, he had drifted out of the line of sight, behind a locker. He could see Vinnie and Jock bouncing into the room behind him, but they were quickly hidden from view as well. He tucked to do a roll in mid-air, putting his feet against the wall and pushing off back towards the open part of the engineering bay.

  Jock was already cutting the tape off Chief Engineer Kopecky, while Vinnie was pulling the apprentice engineer away from Mironov’s body.

  “We’re all clear in here!” Vinnie called out to the Security outside the room. “Get us some medics now!”

  As McKay came closer, he could see that Antonov…Mironov…whoever it was, was dead, a bullet hole through his forehead, the back of his skull shattered and exploded outward, a cloud of brains, bone fragments and blood hanging over his body, some of it already spattered on the wall and the hostage he’d held.

  “Casualties?” He asked, reholstering his pistol and trying to get his breathing back under control.

  “She took two to the chest,” Vinnie reported grimly, turning over the apprentice engineer that Antonov had been using as a shield. Her face was pale, her eyes open but unseeing and two gaping holes in her upper chest were frothing oxygenated blood, adding to the red mist that filled the air. The medics were on the way and even as he watched, two of the Security troops boosted over to slap smart bandages on the wounds, but she was clearly dead.

  ” Jesus,” McKay moaned, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “I thought he was shooting at me.”

  The young woman was waif-skinny, her brown hair shoulder length and drifting into her lean, hawk-nosed face. And she’d died because of him. But there had been no other choice…just as he had no choice now but to see to the safety of the ship.

  “Commander Kopecky,” McKay turned to the Chief Engineer, who was finally free of the tape that had been restraining his wrists and ankles. “Can you get the fusion reactor restarted?”

  Kopecky ripped the tape away from his mouth, cursing in Czech as it took part of his close-clipped beard with it. His eyes were on the body of the apprentice engineer as he spoke, but his tone was professional. “Yes, it is not even flushed…he did not know how. He just cut the power feeds. Give me a moment.”

  The engineer pushed off from the floor and came up against the main command station, his hands flying over the controls. “Bridge,” he called over the intercom, “reactor power is restored: the plasma drive is online.”

  “Good to hear your voice, Commander,” Patel replied. “We’re going to be holding off on the plasma drive until the shuttles get back…we’ve managed to recover some of the antimatter storage canisters and to be brutally honest, without them there’s no way we’re outrunning those Shipbusters on conventional power.”

  “Aye, sir,” Kopecky answered. Then he closed his eyes and took a breath, looking as if he might collapse if there’d been any gravity. “Her name was Mary Boudinot, Colonel,” he said softly, not looking at the dead woman. “She was just 23, only six months out of the Academy. This was her first cruise.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander…” McKay began, but Kopecky interrupted him.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about, Colonel,” he said sadly, shaking his head. “You did what had to be done. But Ensign Boudinot…she gave her life for us, in a way, you know? And I just think we should try to remember her.”

  “I’ll remember her, Commander,” McKay assured him grimly. In my nightmares. For years. “Vinnie,” he said to the Captain, who was helping the Security troops to free the other engineering personnel, “I’m heading up to the bridge. After everything is secure here, I want you to get with Lt. James and find out where Mironov got the gun and if he had any help.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vinnie said, eyes still fixed on Mironov’s corpse. “Sir, you really think this guy was some sort of copy of Antonov?”

  “Yes I do, Vinnie,” McKay told him. “He was either a duplicate of some kind or he’d been brainwashed into thinking he was. I got suckered,” he declared bitterly. “It cost that girl her life and now it might cost us all our lives.”

  “Hell, boss, that’s not something I’d expect you to account for,” Vinnie insisted, shaking his head. “There’s no way you could have known that was even possible.”

  “It’s my job to know,” McKay said flatly, then headed out of the room, making for the lift station.

  McKay didn’t bother trying to contact Patel on his ‘link as he rode the lift back to the bridge. The Admiral probably had his hands full already and he needed the silence.

  This is a fucking disaster, he thought, closing his eyes. They were over 200 light years from home, in the enemy’s home system, surrounded by Protectorate ships, disabled and now they couldn’t even be sure that they actually knew the way home even if they did get away. And if they didn’t use the wormhole matrix, they were not getting home.

  And worse, what about the Decatur? They’d been counting on Mironov’s directions to take her home, but now…for all they knew, he could have been directing them to a Protectorate stronghold. They could already be dead. He knew that Antonov would never have let them return to Earth safely with the secret of how to navigate the wormholes.

  By the time he arrived at the bridge, McKay was deep in a funk and pissed off that he was going to have to find a way to hide it from Patel. He needn’t have worried: the bridge was so abuzz with activity that the Admiral hardly noticed him enter and take a position behind the command chair.

  One look at the main viewscreen told him why: the Shipbuster missiles were only minutes away, so close they could see them on the optical cameras. Wedges of blackness hunted the Sheridan like wolves, framed by the star-bright glow of fusion drives; and there were so many of them…

  “The countermeasures are almost there,” Pirelli announced calmly, eyes flickering back and forth between the readouts at her station and the camera view onscreen. “Ten seconds.”

  “Damage control,” Patel snapped, “what’s the status on the canisters?”

  “We’ve recovered ten of the fifteen ejected canisters,” Devlin’s voice came over the intercom. “The others are too far away to get to them in time. The shuttles are loading the first three right now…five more minutes for those.”

  “Get those loaded then get the shuttles into the bay,” Patel ordered. “We can transfer the rest internally and load them through the engineering bay’s service locks.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Patel looked a question at Pirelli.

  “Twelve minutes, three seconds till the Shipbusters hit us, sir,” she told him. “Countermeasures are on target.” There were small starburst explosions on the screen that lit up the dark wedges of impending destruction, and then two huge, spherical fusion blasts that whited out the screen. Pirelli grinned, checking her readouts. “Two of the Shipbusters prematurely detonated,” she announced. “And I read two more as losing their fusion drives…the blast knocked them off their course, they should miss us. Two more still tracking us, still accelerating.”

  “Open fire with the Gauss guns, Commander Pirelli…maybe we’ll get lucky. Commander Devlin,” Patel contacted Damage Control again. “I need to know when those shuttles are secure in the bay! Commander Kopecky,” he called to engineering, “tell me the second the Eysselink drive is back online.” He glanced back, noticing McKay for the first time. “This is going to be uncomfortably close, Colonel. Thanks for taking care of Mironov before he could do any more damage.”

  “He did enough,” McKay said, his voice flat, eyes on the viewscreen.

  Patel shot him a glance but withheld comment.

  “The antimatter canisters are secure, Admiral,” Commander Devlin reported. “The shuttles are moving into the docking bay now…just a couple more minutes.”

  “If they don’t get inside in the next five minutes, Mr. Devlin, you’re fired,” Patel de
adpanned.

  “Understood, sir,” Devlin said, a grim humor in his voice.

  McKay watched the approaching missiles and didn’t feel fear so much as a crippling guilt. It would have been different had there been something for him to do, some duty he needed to perform, but as he could only stand and watch, he had the luxury of stopping to feel guilt. Would Shannon have seen through him? He asked himself. Would she have been more suspicious?

  “McKay,” Patel looked to him. “You might want to strap in,”

  “Yes, sir.” He moved to the acceleration couches behind the command chair and belted himself into it, eyes never leaving the screen and the approaching missiles.

  “Gauss rounds hit one of them,” Pirelli reported, “but it’s still on target. Two minutes.”

  “Admiral,” Commander Kopecky called from engineering, “the antimatter injectors are connected, field is ready to power up on your order.”

  ““Excellent, Commander, stand by for my order.” He switched over to Damage Control. “Commander Devlin, the shuttles?”

  “They’re all inside the bay, sir,” Devlin reported. “We’re still getting them secured to the docking locks-if we accelerate, they could break loose and cause some serious damage, but you can activate the field.”

  “Mr. Sweeny,” Patel said, a relieved sigh in his voice, “activate the drive field…station keeping only.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sweeny said with the grin of a condemned man who’d just been handed a reprieve, “station keeping only.”

  The view on the exterior cameras shifted as the drive field began propagating outward from the emitters in the pods on either side of the hull. Space-time warped outward and the ripples slammed into the oncoming missiles, ripping them apart in flares of fusion fire.