The Sentinel (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Wallace

  “Do it, Li. Or rather, tell your sister to do it for you—I know you don’t have the guts to kill me yourself. I made a decision, and I’ll stand by the consequences.”

  “I’m not here to blame you for what happened,” Li said.

  “Sounds like you just did.” She settled back onto her cot. “What do you want, Commander?”

  “I want to not attack the Albion warship. I want to negotiate with them, to form an alliance.”

  A weary wave of the hand. “You’re the commander, what’s stopping you? Oh, wait, of course. It’s your sister and her friends. Hard to say no to your own family, is that it?”

  “I know what the situation must look like, but I had to throw in with one side or the other or be devoured by both. You defied my orders, and my sister’s desires were aligned with my own. Or so I thought.”

  “Now you’ve realized you made a blunder, haven’t you?”

  “It wasn’t a blunder, it was the right decision at the time.”

  “At the time?”

  “Circumstances have changed. The Sentry Faction wants to strip the warship, impress some of the crew into service, and wait. And then what? Best case scenario, we fight, we drive Apex off while they search for easier prey, and we wait some more. Years, decades. Eventually, Apex returns to finish the job.”

  “That’s no change, that was more or less our orders all along.”

  “Except we could make an ally. The warship fought the lances, destroyed one. What is their navy like? How many ships do they have? What new tech and tactics do they have? What can we share with them?”

  “Great, Commander. Why didn’t you think of this before?”

  “We were under attack, Koh. What did you expect? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Engineer Li and Engineer Megat have taken over the command module. They’re moving their people into all positions. I’m a figurehead, that’s all. Soon enough, I won’t even be that.”

  “What happens when the crew of the warship says no?” Koh asked.

  “They won’t be asked. My sister is going to assault the captured ship and kill a bunch of them, including the officers. The survivors will be pressed into service. Maybe. That’s what my sister claims. She also claims it will take several hours to prepare her assault team, that I’ll return to the command module just in time to oversee the operation. That’s a lie to keep me out of the way while they do it.”

  “Obviously.” Koh gave a disgusted shake of the head. “A brutal, monstrous plan. No surprise, knowing those types. They’re completely mad.”

  “So I’m throwing in my lot with the Openers, and I want your help.”

  Koh didn’t speak, and so Li pressed on.

  “Swettenham is in the command module—he has access to all communications systems, to automated security.” Li licked his lips. “No doubt my sister is going to throw him out for someone else, but she hasn’t yet, and for now he’s our man on the inside. He’s the one who hid my tracks so I could come here and talk to you.”

  “Commander Li, skulking around his own battle station. How heroic.”

  “I’m not proud of it, but what else could I do? The point is, I want your help.”

  “I can’t help, Commander. I just decided to throw my lot in with the Openers myself when I sent that message.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No, really. This time I’m not.”

  “I know what you think of me, but I’m no fool. You didn’t just come up with that hack to the communications system, not when communications was mothballed for so long. You may be good, but you’re not that good. You had a back door all along.”

  “Wild conjecture, and completely false.”

  “Have a little respect for the both of us,” Li said. “Stop lying. You’re in with the Openers, and what’s more, I think you’re high up in whatever organization they have.”

  Again, the long hesitation, and again he could sense her weighing a lie against the truth. “Let’s say I admit it,” she said at last. “What is it you want, exactly? And what are you offering in return?”

  “I’ll get you out of here, for a start. Once you’re out, I need your help retaking the command module.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “To the purpose of keeping the Sentry Faction from killing people. From alienating our only potential ally. From gutting the ship that is the only possible way we’ll ever get help.”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t put you back in charge.”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Commander Li, what fool would throw her weight behind you now? You’ve as good as lost your battle station to your own sister. She wasn’t even second in command, or fourteenth in command, for that matter. She’s a combat engineer with a few ruthless men and women behind her, nothing more. You didn’t even put up a fight.”

  “You have no idea how difficult my position is.”

  “I know you’re weak and spineless.”

  “I’m not weak, I’m desperate. Eleven years of isolation. No orders from the Imperium. Ever. Meanwhile, the whole damn base goes nuts. We’ve divided into two groups of religious fanatics.”

  “One group of fanatics. The Sentry Faction is nuts. The rest of us are trying to stay alive.”

  “You sent an unauthorized message to an unknown vessel in direct violation of Directive One. You’re as bad as the rest of them. Each side ready to go to war, and me, trying to keep us battle ready against the real enemy. Do you realize how hard that is? Turned out it was impossible.”

  Li paced the small holding cell. “Yes, I lost my power, little by little. It didn’t help that my first officer lost his energy a half-decade ago. He’s an old man now. My sister turned on me. Nobody else stepped forward who wasn’t caught up in this fanaticism.

  “I’m asking for your help, Koh. Whatever little respect I’ve still got from the crew will go to opening up fully. There’s no reason not to—the enemy knows where we are. You’ll get everything you wanted. The only thing you won’t get is command of this battle station.”

  He turned back around to see Koh still watching him through narrowed eyes. He waited for her to respond. At last, she rose to her feet.

  “Okay, Commander. Let’s go.”

  He put out a hand to palm open the lock, but Koh took his wrist. “No need for that. It’s all settled.”

  She put her own hand out, and the light above the door turned from red to blue. The door swung open, and the so-called prisoner—never really confined, as it turned out—strolled out, gesturing for him to follow.

  Chapter Eleven

  Captain Tolvern crouched behind a stack of crates in the main engineering bay. She had an assault rifle slung over her shoulder and wore a bandolier of grenades.

  The hull vibrated, and the tang of burning plastic and oil filled the hangar. Every few seconds came a terrific screeching sound. That would be plating, pipes, and ducts being pulled away by whoever was cutting their way carefully inside. The enemy had had ample chance to destroy the ship and the crew, but was apparently trying to take both more or less intact.

  Tolvern took in the others beside her. Capp, the former Royal Marine, checked her hand cannon, chomping on a huge wad of gum as she moved methodically through her ammo and weapons. Only the sweat glistening on her buzzed scalp betrayed emotion. Smythe fiddled with his hand computer, readying some surprises. Carvalho, loaded with guns, knives, and grenades, stood to one side, exposed away from the others. Hands on his hips, his muscles bulging from his T-shirt, he stared with disdain at the spot in the wall where the future breach would occur.

  Other crew members were scattered around the engineering bay, taking position behind stacks of supplies, pieces of equipment, and in a bunker made out of tools and broken pieces of tyrillium armor.

  “Why do I feel we’ve all been here before?” Tolvern said.

  Smythe looked up from his computer. “You mean like when that pirate tried to steal our ship on San Pablo?”

 
Carvalho nodded. “Or those times on Hot Barsa? Second time was the worst—thought we’d never make it out of there alive.”

  “How about Albion?” Capp said with a loud sigh. “All that silver, but no way to steal it. Who knew silver bars were so heavy?”

  “It’s coming back to me,” Tolvern said. “We’ve faced a few enemies, haven’t we?”

  “Right, Cap’n,” Capp said. “Nothing new. These ain’t the buzzards, just a bunch of funny talking humans. Should be easy enough to handle.”

  Tolvern couldn’t afford to be so complacent, though at least she didn’t have to worry about her intestines being plucked out by an overgrown turkey. A few hours ago they’d been preparing to be boarded by Apex; this was almost a relief in comparison. It explained why she was facing none of the usual battle nerves, stupid as that was. She still might die, after all.

  The sound of tearing and cutting was getting on Tolvern’s nerves. Get it over with already.

  “Smythe, send that audio one more time,” she said. “Give them one more chance to avoid all this stupidity.”

  He punched something on his computer to send the truce request/demand/threat. There was a pause as they waited for a response that had not come before and would apparently not come now, either. After a moment, he shook his head.

  “They’re still jamming it. Want me to try something else?”

  “Throw a few bombs against their station,” Capp said. “That will get their attention.” She blew a big bubble with her gum.

  “Forget it,” Tolvern said. “A girl keeps sending the same message and she starts to look desperate, you know.”

  Capp laughed, and the bubble exploded against her face. She peeled it off, still grinning. “You see a bloke you like, you got to jump his bones, Cap’n.”

  Carvalho rolled his eyes. Then suddenly he stiffened as a fresh screech sounded. “They’re almost through.”

  “Get over here, you idiot,” Capp said, her smile gone in an instant. “You’ll get your head blown off standing out there exposed.”

  He ducked behind the crates with the rest of them. Quiet conversations had been taking place across the open engineering bay, but now they stopped. A man sat at a heavy machine gun about thirty feet away, packed behind more crates and with a gun shield to protect his head. He pulled back the bolt. The wall bulged on the other side of the engineering bay.

  “Hull pressure steady,” Smythe said, computer still in hand. “Whatever they’re up to, they’re not trying to suck us into space.”

  Holes popped in three places in a series of small explosions, and smoke poured into the room. Goggles came down over a few heads, but that wasn’t necessary. The onboard filtration system sucked it out as fast as it came in, being designed to whisk away smoke in case of a fire.

  Figures poured through the holes, firing as they emerged. Blackbeard’s defenders answered back, cutting down the invaders as fast as they entered. A bright flash temporarily blinded Tolvern, and when her eyesight recovered, she saw more figures pouring down from above, dropping twenty feet to the ground.

  The enemy had done something funny to the gravity, bypassed the onboard systems somehow, and Tolvern felt suddenly as if she were floating. Capp cursed next to her and grabbed hold of one of the crates. It, too, started lifting off the ground.

  Then the gravity returned. The whole thing was over in a second, but not before a good twenty or more enemies had dropped in from above, fallen gently to the floor of the large room, and fanned out, shooting. One fell to a knee, a gun at his shoulder, only yards away, but Carvalho dropped him with a single shot before he could fire.

  Tolvern got her first good look at the attackers. They were all dark haired, like most Ladinos, but with an unusual look about their eyes, carried across generations and several hundred years of time from the Great Migration. She’d seen that same look in refugees, but these weren’t the hollow-faced, pathetic remnants of Apex’s depredations that had come flooding through the Hroom-controlled space. They were quick-moving, well-fed, and aggressive military men and women.

  A rocket streaked toward her, and she threw herself down. It detonated against the crates, and a small fireball went up. The heat of it curled over the top and sucked the air out of her lungs, but the wall of crates itself was impenetrable; the crates contained two-foot-square patches of tyrillium for the shields, and there was no possible hand weapon that would penetrate them.

  Tolvern poked her head up. Dead and dying enemies lay sprawled around the engineering bay floor, but not as many as she’d hoped. Worse, the Singaporeans who’d dropped in from above had bypassed the defenders and killed a few of Tolvern’s people positioned behind a forklift. They used the forklift as cover to chase the defenders away from that side of the bay. Their fellows ran to join them and take over other positions. The battle was getting away from her in a hurry.

  “Time for the foam,” Tolvern told Smythe.

  A half smile touched his mouth, and he tapped his screen, a boy with a toy.

  Nozzles emerged from the floor, ceiling, and walls. Smythe had bypassed the automated systems that Jane would have employed against a fire, and the foam that squirted out was aimed at enemies. At the breaches in the walls.

  The most critical danger in any starship was loss of atmosphere. You could lose a gun, even your engines and possibly survive, but if the hull were breached and could not be sealed, that was the end. The space lanes carried many ghost ships whose crews had been lost this way and who would pick their way endlessly across the galaxy on whatever trajectory they’d been following at the time.

  Bombproofs, airlocks, and deck isolation were three strategies to limit the damage. When that failed, the sealant foam. Now, it was directed against the invaders from the battle station. It formed huge, frothy mounds where it hit and immediately began to harden.

  Enemies were caught half in and half out of the breaches in the wall. Others were pinned to the floor and immobilized up to their necks. The foam entirely buried a few unfortunates, who struggled like insects sinking in pitch, before the casing hardened and left them entombed. The biggest mass fell on the captured forklift where the enemies had been establishing a base of operations. That ended the threat from that direction.

  Tolvern hadn’t known what to expect from Smythe’s innovation. A diversion? A weapon that would catch both friend and foe at the same time? The result was beyond her expectations. How many had vanished beneath the foam entirely? Ten or fifteen? Another twenty caught and immobilized? And the entry points blocked entirely.

  Several stragglers escaped the blast, but they either threw down their weapons and surrendered or fought on and died in a hailstorm of bullets. It was all over in a hurry. Blackbeard’s defenders rose from their positions, slapping hands and shouting. Several broke into a Royal Navy drinking song, and Capp jumped on top of the crates to lead them, half singing, half shouting in a lusty voice.

  “Hold your cheers!” Tolvern barked into the com over the general channel. “This isn’t over. I want those prisoners disarmed and out of here. And every one of you back at your posts.”

  She reloaded her weapon and waited for the second attack.

  #

  The wait dragged on and on, and only gradually did it dawn on the captain that there wouldn’t be another attempt. Not now, at least. So she put her crew back to work. Barker’s engineers suited up and began stripping away burned crating to get at the undamaged tyrillium patches. Using the mechanized suits, they carried the heavy plates to the holes torn through the wall by the invaders and fastened them into place. The air filled with the purple arc of plasma welders and an almost citrus smell from the epoxy that would fuse the plates together.

  “It’s going to be the ugliest repair you ever saw,” Barker told her. “But they won’t be knocking through the same place twice. I’ve got some of my people behind there, too, looking at whatever ducts and pipes they ripped apart getting in here.”

  “I can see them working back there,”
she said. “If they don’t hurry up, you’re going to barricade them between the hulls.”

  A grin stretched his mustache. “Got to keep ’em motivated. And if that doesn’t work I can slowly withdraw the oxygen.”

  “Barker, speaking theoretically, if we could blast our way clear of this base, could we make a run for it?”

  “You mean will she hold together?”

  “Right, Chief. What shape will the hull be in once you’re done patching?”

  He looked at her as if she were nuts. “The only thing holding us together is that the damn base is hugging us so tight. Moment it stops, we fly into a dozen pieces.”

  “I want that fixed.”

  “Sure, give me a navy dock and a hundred trained men. Two hundred tons of tyrillium, some gun carriages, a new plasma engine—the works. I’ll have her in tip-top shape. Short of that, I don’t know what would do it. The finger of God? It’s going to take a Biblical miracle to get us back in the fight.”

  Tolvern let her expression harden, but kept her tone light. “So what you’re saying is that I need to barricade the lot of you down here and slowly withdraw the oxygen.”

  Barker’s mustache twitched. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Tolvern clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s all I’m asking, merely the impossible done with supernatural speed.”

  She turned her attention to the Singaporeans now being cut free from the foam and dragged off to join their comrades. Capp and Carvalho zip-tied their hands behind their backs, then marched them over to stand in front of the captain. Clumps of hardened foam still clung to their bodies, and they carried the bitter tang of fire retardant about them.

  Tolvern looked them over as they were lined up in front of her. Roughly twenty in all, an even mix of men and women, every face surly, as if they’d been the ones attacked without provocation instead of being the instigators of the fight. It was a curiously mature group, with the average age appearing somewhere around thirty-five or forty years old.

  They looked vaguely Chinese, like from ancient pictures, but on closer inspection there were differences. Time and ethnic drift had blurred some of the Old Earth resemblance. But it was a strong and hearty bunch, no matter their ages.