by Tammy Salyer
With no feasible chance of docking by surprise, the only way to get in is if we’re supposed to be there. The security reports T’Kai included with the disc indicate that incoming and outgoing flights have been preplotted for over a month, but the precise schedule is missing. We can reasonably assume that there will be intermittent resupply ships, and we’re far enough from any of the Obals or Admin outposts that ship traffic is irregular at best. It wouldn’t be impossible to scan all crafts that come within range of the Sphynx’s radar and hope we’re lucky enough to pick up a supply ship. But the chances that we find one on its way to the Fortress are slim to the point of being almost nonexistent. That’s not good enough.
Bodie asks a question about entry and exit points, launching a discussion over the station’s traffic patterns, which we guess at based on the number and size of its docks. I pull shipping access points into view, their boundaries highlighted in sharp red within the floating blue lines of the holograph. Looking through the margins of the after-deck diagram into the laboratories, it’s hard not to imagine what could be happening to David and their friends in there. And then—
“Look at this,” I say, pointing to a docking bay near the base of the station. “You see this bay? It’s labeled ‘Supply Docking Bay 5.’”
They both look from me to the schematic, then back at me, not sure what I’m getting at. “Look at the dimensions. See how small it is? It can’t dock a ship much bigger than the Sphynx. And look where it’s located, right next to the water storage and reclamation system, on this side, and an incinerator on this side.” I point at the image, my finger almost shaking in excitement.
“Then over here, beyond the bay control rooms, are the two main labs. Bio and chemical. The weapons development center is on the other side of the station. If they wanted to bring supplies in from this bay, they’d have to take them through the labs. Think about it. A complex this size is going to need a hell of a lot more room than this little dock for bringing in all the essentials—food, more water, equipment, whatever.”
My eyes lock on Strahan’s, demanding he understand. “I think this is where they’re bringing in prisoners. Human subjects.”
Bodie looks at me surprised, but Strahan is nodding his head, excited now too. Standing, he points to a series of small rooms running between the two labs. “Look right here at these rooms, Storage A–J. If you’re right, they bring the prisoners in, and take them right to these rooms. These have to be holding cells.”
He’s right. With the exception of the areas labeled “Living Quarters,” no other compartments on the station are configured the same way. Perfect jail-cell size, and located right next to where we know they’re testing their inhuman shit on living people.
A fragile tendril of an idea starts growing in my mind. “Yeah, makes sense. The docking bays near the front of the station are much bigger. That’s where they’re bringing in supplies and everything else. But they don’t need a big dock for this. And they don’t need to advertise it by labeling it what it is, in case some honcho with a weak stomach or sense of puritan morality ever gets a look at these plans.”
Bodie still looks slightly perplexed. “So what? They’ll be guarding that dock just as closely as everything else.”
“Yeah, but if we can land there, we’ll be right next to where they’re holding David and the others. And the only way they’ll be able to come at us is through the labs or from the outside. They’ll have to be careful too, or they’ll destroy their own water system, which will force them to shut down the whole place. They’re not going to want to do that.”
“Okay, yeah, I see. That still leaves the problem of docking, Aly. They’re not going to let a civilian ship anywhere near it. If we even look as if we might be getting too close, regardless of what our manifests say, they’ll send someone to intercept us and probably arrest us.”
I have a plan for that too. Walking to the intercom console, I buzz Vitruzzi. “Captain, I think I have an idea. Can we get everyone to the com room?”
NINETEEN
Everyone assembles and I quickly explain our theory. I’m grateful when Strahan jumps in at critical points, giving my ideas some credibility. Brady’s face is a mask of cynicism, but he doesn’t call bullshit. It’s a relief to not have to defend the idea against his automatic suspicion; time is far too short for divisiveness.
After everyone looks over the schematic and sees what we’re talking about, I take over. “So Bodie, your question, the question, is how are we going to get permission to dock? Easy. We’re going to give them a prisoner.” They’re all looking at me with focused concentration, wondering what I’m talking about. No jury ever handed down a sentence with more conviction than mine as I answer their unspoken question, “Me.”
Strahan begins shaking his head. “Uh-uh, Aly. You’re not going in there alone, and we’re not a registered prison transport anyway.”
“You’re right. But we know where to get one.”
Vitruzzi knows what I’m talking about. “The ship that boarded us today.”
“Exactly. I got a good look at them while I was hiding in the fire control room. It’s an MCACS—Multi-Containment Armored Carrier Ship. Commonly used by the Admin for prisoner transport. They’re probably taking a load to the Fortress right now and got tasked with checking us out because we were in the same region and getting close to the station. Their commander wasn’t very interested in doing a thorough inspection of the Sphynx; he didn’t even want to look at the nav-logs. Why? Because that’s not his job. He just wanted to follow orders and wrap up his primary duty—dropping his cargo, the prisoners, at the Fortress.”
“What’s your point, Erikson? That ship is faster than us, armed, and loaded with security personnel.” Brady’s playing Captain Obvious, not trying hard enough to understand.
Opting to ignore him, I continue, “Look, they’ve got twenty personnel max. An MCACS isn’t much bigger than we are and all the prisoners are locked up, contained, whatever the hell they do. They’re basically an armored transport ship. And they aren’t going to be too far away yet. Hell, they may even be following us.”
Venus chimes in, “Nuh-uh, I’ve been keeping my eye on the radars. There’s no one out here but us.”
I don’t want to be a jerk, she’s just a kid after all, but the point has to be made. “The minute we underestimate them, we lose our advantage. They can cloak themselves if they want to.”
She frowns, slightly stung, but my bluntness stoppers their doubts long enough for me to continue, “It’s easy. Just call them back and say you found me on board after all. I’d been hiding or something. They may not believe you, and they don’t have to.” I stare intently at Vitruzzi, wanting to impress on her the importance of giving the plan all due diligence before rejecting it. The final decision will be hers, and everything rides on what she chooses. “Let them think that being boarded spooked you and made you realize how much shit you were in, so you decided to give me up and pretend like you didn’t know anything. It doesn’t matter. They’ll come back for me because they’ve been told to. And when they do, we take their ship. The coordinates to the Fortress will be in their nav-system. Brady, if you’re right and the Fortress has moved or Rajcik gave us the wrong coordinates, it won’t matter. We’ve got to do this.”
Their expressions testify to the fact that they think I’ve gone completely off my nut, but it’s the best plan anyone’s thought of so far. The only plan.
“Venus, do you think you can fly an MCACS?” Vitruzzi asks after a moment of consideration.
Without hesitation, her lips spread into a wide grin. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Their engines are modeled after these, but with a higher output. The stabilizers have to compensate for that by creating more drag, but that’s offset by a larger bore combuster and higher torque on the turbines.”
Does she study ship designs for fun, or is it just wired into her mutant brain? Either way, good news for us. “Then we just have to make the call. People, there’
s no other choice. We do this or they die.”
“She’s right.” Desto stands, no smile on his face this time. “It may be crazy, and probably impossible, but I’ve always wanted to hijack an Admin ship. I’m in.”
It only takes another second before everyone is nodding. “Okay.” I’m also nodding, relief and excitement flooding through me. We may be grasping at the shortest straw ever made, but we finally have a plan. From this point, there will be no more doubt, no more confusion, no more uncertainty or fear. Right or wrong, we are finally, inevitably, in motion.
“The best way to take control is to capture their commander. With a little persuasion, he’ll order the crew to stand down. There may be a couple of heroes, but we can deal with them. Once we own the ship, we’ll bring Venus on board. Until then, she and someone else can stay here and cover us.”
Worry dances circles in Venus’s wide eyes, threatening her nerve. I smile confidently, trying to reassure her. As long as we can keep her out of harm’s way, no doubt she’ll be able to manage the hijacked ship.
Talking fast, I lay out the strategy my mind has already processed. “Whoever stays on the Sphynx will provide us with a distraction. Once they’re convinced I’m the fugee they’ve been tasked to find, we’ll be forced to make the delivery. Take me to them. They’re vulnerable if they split up and their shuttle is launched.” I shift my eyes back to Venus. “You keep their ship in firing range. After we’re on board—and I don’t mean after we dock, but after we’re on board and off the shuttle—you line up and blow out one of their auxiliary engines. The MCACS can still fly without it, but the strike will confuse them and give us enough of a distraction to take the ship.”
“You’re saying that four or five of us are going to take out twenty of them?” Desto asks.
“We don’t have to kill them. Just take away their initiative and make them our prisoners. Once we blow their auxiliary and they realize they’re under fire, if they follow SOPs, they’ll try to make a run for it. But not if we have their commander hostage.” I stop talking for a minute, considering the biggest obstacle to this plan. “But what we really need is a way to jam their coms, make them unable to transmit a SITREP or SOS. The plan hinges on us being able to surprise them, and then use the ship as cover to get inside the Fortress.”
“We’ve got a pulse emitter in the fire control room. If we splice it to our transmitter and draw from the Sphynx’s engine, we may be able to scramble their transmissions by overloading all frequencies,” Bodie says. “It’s old, and it’ll take a lot of power from the Sphynx to create a big enough electrostatic wave. I’m not a hundred percent it’ll even work at all.” He looks around the table, one eyebrow raised as if to ask, I know it’s a long shot, but what else do we have?
Vitruzzi asks, “How much power? Will the Sphynx be able to make a break for it if things go wrong?”
“If it works, it’ll draw…maybe eighty percent of the engine’s energy. All at once. The only thing on board that will work is the grav-stabilizer and life support. That’s for one static pulse, which should disrupt their communications for three, maybe even five, minutes. If they send a transmission, it’ll be garbled and anyone hearing it won’t know who it came from.” He draws a long, slow breath. “I think.”
“How long will the Sphynx be down?”
“I’d guess about ten minutes.”
“Is that enough time?” Strahan asks.
“The MCACS is a small ship, and they don’t have much more firepower than the Sphynx does. But they’re a lot faster than we are, even with a burnt-out auxiliary. Their orders will be to send an SOS and make a break for it. But it will take them a minute to diagnose the damage. If we take their commander hostage before they can respond, we can make him order the ship to stand to. They’ll know what we’re capable of and do as commanded.”
“And if any single thing goes wrong…” Brady doesn’t finish the sentence.
No one else says anything for a few seconds, thinking over what I’ve outlined. Strahan’s brown eyes are on mine, and this time I meet his gaze. He stares right through my resolute, no-compromises exterior, recognizing the deep fears now pushing me into risks that seem beyond reckless, and he nods. He understands. I, we, have no more options.
“Okay. This is how we’ll run it.” Vitruzzi takes over and we spend the next forty-five minutes ramping up for the mission that decides whether David and the Sky Serpent crew live or die.
TWENTY
The Sphynx is about two kilometers behind us and the shuttle-docking doors opening on the top of the MCACS are just ahead. Vitruzzi made the call and they’d responded exactly as we’d hoped. It’s small and close inside the shuttle. Sweat runs down my back and I see it beading up on Desto and Strahan’s temples. Vitruzzi is as impassive as ever, piloting us to the shuttle dock with the same even determination as when she’s sewing up one of her crew or lying to an officer of the Administration.
Turning to Strahan, I tell him, “Put me in restraints.”
“What?”
“Put some wrist restraints on me. They won’t believe us unless I’m cuffed.”
“You’ll be helpless…”
“If you think that, you don’t know me very well. Just do it. Fill the lock core with a fingernail’s worth of E-10 right before we get off. It’ll melt through in about two minutes and my hands will be free. But take this,” I hand him my Sinbad pistol, “and keep it in the back of your pants. Stay in front of me. I can fire with restraints on.”
We all have guns, all well hidden. We need the Admin crew to let us inside the dock with the doors shut and the airlocks activated if this is going to work. For them to do that, Vitruzzi and the others have to appear to be innocent citizens giving up a known fugitive. Possessing guns is illegal, and if ours are seen, our cover is blown.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath but puts the cuffs on. I try to smile at him while he’s balling up the E-10 wax, but it feels forced. He grins back anyway and pushes the Sinbad inside his belt in the small of his back. “Don’t pull that trigger until it’s clear, got it?”
Vitruzzi eases us down through the open doors and we hit the bay floor with a screech of metal. I hear the hydraulics engage, and the doors above us begin to close. Here we go.
Green lights flash inside the bay indicating the airlock is engaged and pressurized, and Vitruzzi activates the shuttle ramp. It lowers slowly, giving us time to note the positions of the commander and half a dozen other uniformed personnel in the bay. Every one of them has a weapon pointed at us. Vitruzzi takes the lead and begins walking down the ramp, followed by Strahan, me, then Desto. I raise my hands waist high, hovering just behind Strahan’s back.
“Be very careful, Captain. I want to see empty hands in the air.”
I take my first look at the officer, and to my complete lack of surprise, he is almost exactly as I’d pictured. Regulation cropped hair, barely long enough to be seen beneath his commander’s cap, sharp blue eyes attentive beneath the cap’s brim, and a rigid stature that makes his starched uniform look nailed on. Distinct lines drape from the edges of his mouth toward his chin, reinforcing the frown that he now levels on us. He’s not much older than I am, but life transporting prisoners to the fringes of space has not been gentle on him.
All of us keep our hands in plain view except for me. Once we’re all on deck I step only slightly beside Strahan so I can draw the ’Bad without having to shift my body. The others line up horizontally as the crewmen approach to search us. The air tastes electric with tension and I can read in the major’s face that he knows something is up.
Just as the first man reaches to pat down Vitruzzi, a voice stoked by urgency booms through the ship’s com system, “Major Donnelly, we’re getting an unexpected reading on our weapon sensors.”
Bodie is locked! Fire now! I scream in my head, reaching for the Sinbad. The major’s sharp eyes dart toward us, and then the ship bucks crazily, throwing everyone through the air.
The a
uxiliary engine’s explosion reverberates throughout the chamber like water breaking through a dam, forcing my eyes to squeeze tightly shut. A yell followed by a meaty thud comes from nearby and I open them in time to glimpse Desto kneeling over the nearest crewman, trying to disarm him. Vitruzzi lines up a shot at another, and Strahan has Donnelly by the collar, forcing the officer in front of him to use as a shield. Another crewman lines up to fire at me, and I roll aside just in time, then back, aiming for his face with the ’Bad. My shot is off by a few centimeters and only grazes him, but the pain and surprise are enough to make him forget to fire back. His weapon clatters against the floor as he reaches for his wounded neck, allowing me the time I need to take aim at his head. He knows the deal and reaches high.
“Everyone drop them or your commander is dead.” Strahan’s voice slices through the chamber like a scythe.
As if they were a single unit, the security team freezes. Strahan scans the bay, one arm gripped around the major’s neck, the other pointing the pistol he had strapped to his calf at the man’s temple.
“Do as he says,” Donnelly gasps through his half-closed throat.
“Sir! We’ve been fired on! Sir, what are your orders?” The same frantic voice as before shouts through the com system.
The men remain still, but it’s a fifty-fifty chance they’ll disregard their commander’s order. It only takes one overhyped gunman jerking his trigger, and like dominoes, the rest will open fire. The docking chamber is small, the walls deflective—it would be suicide to continue shooting standard-issue metal rounds in here, but the human mind doesn’t always believe in its own mortality. Rising slowly, I draw the Mini-Derg with my free hand and point it at another crewman, already regretting that I’ll be useless to my brother and he’ll die alone inside an Admin torture chamber if we lose our momentary advantage. But then Donnelly finds the motivation he needs to force an unquestionable command through his constricted throat. “Drop your weapons, now!”