The Final Battle hw-5

by Graham Sharp Paul

  Hinjo nodded again. “If it’s all so urgent, why did you waste so much time on Scobie’s?”

  “Ah, well.” Michael fixed a look of worried concern onto his face. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, Lieutenant, but I’m sure I can trust you not to let this go any further.”

  “Of course.”

  “We had a contractual disagreement with the client, a serious disagreement.”

  “A contractual disagreement?” Hinjo said, his face twisting into a supercilious smirk. “They wouldn’t pay BellMineTech’s exorbitant prices, you mean. You people are all the same.”

  Michael ignored the insult. “I think that’s an accurate summary of the problem, Lieutenant,” he said.

  “Hmm,” Hinjo replied. He walked over to the containers, a finger to his lips tapping out his thoughts. “I think we should have a look inside, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Michael said, heart pounding. “Which one first?”

  “That one,” Hinjo said, pointing.

  “Can your guys give me a hand?”

  “They’re busy. Get your men up to help, Mister Smuts.”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant,” Michael said, turning to cut off the customs seals. He pulled open the container doors to reveal a tightly packed mass of metal and plasfiber. “I don’t think they’d be much use. Swamp fever, apparently. Must say I don’t feel so good myself. Captain, do you have a handlerbot we can use? Some of this equipment is heavy.”

  “We do,” Horda said. “Hold on, I’ll go-”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hinjo said with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Open the doors on every second container.”

  “Thank you, Captain Horda,” Michael said under his breath as he set to work, trying not to feel even guiltier than he already did.

  Wednesday, June 23, 2404, UD

  SWMS Matrix Starlight, in pinchspace

  “Everyone in position?”

  “All set,” Shinoda responded.

  “Go!”

  Michael and Mitchell walked onto the Matrix Starlight’s bridge, a small compartment with two chairs and, an array of holovid screens and consoles with master and backup controls for all the ship’s systems.

  “Ah, Johannes,” Horda said. “I was wondering-”

  “Stay where you are, Captain,” Michael said, the stunner in his hand pointing right at Horda’s chest. “Mitch,” he went on, waving the marine forward to plasticuff him.

  “Oh, dear.” Horda shook his head. He let out a long sigh and held out his wrists. “This is a first. I’ve never been hijacked. Tell me: Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  “Sadly for you, yes.”

  “I can’t give you the command authority codes. You know that?”

  “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ve brought my own.”

  For the first time, Horda looked worried. “You can’t have.”

  “Tell that to Mister Kalkuz.”

  “Kalkuz? But he’s … oh, crap.”

  “This way, please, sir,” Mitchell said to Horda. Shoulders slumped in defeat, the man allowed himself to be led over to the master console.

  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Michael stood beside the man. In theory, taking control of the ship was easy: Select the right menu, enter the master password, check Horda’s DNA and retinas to confirm his identity, then repeat to authorize Michael to take control, and the job was done. Taking another deep breath, he punched in the command authority code. Only when the screen told him to proceed did he allow himself to relax a little. Poor old Kalkuz, he thought, waving Horda to step up to be screened, He could have stayed at home.

  In less than two minutes, the entire process was done. Michael was now the de facto master of the Matrix Starlight. “Take the captain to the saloon,” he said, putting a comm through to Shinoda.

  “The ship is ours,” he said when her face appeared.

  Shinoda let out a sigh. “That’s a relief. We’ve got the first officer and the chief engineer in the crew mess.”

  “Any problems?”

  “None. Quiet as lambs.”

  “Okay. Send two of the guys to get Kalkuz and Akuna out of their boxes while I change the navigation plan. When I’m done, I’ll be with the captain. He deserves to know why this is happening to him and his ship.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Thanks, Mitchell; I’ll take it from here. But leave the door open and stay outside. If he tries anything-” Michael hooked a thumb at Horda. “-shoot him.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Michael reached over the table to cut the plasticuffs off Horda’s wrists. “I’m sorry about all this, Captain, but we can’t afford to take any chances.”

  “You’re marines,” Horda said, sitting back and rubbing his wrists. “Aye, aye, sir, and all that.”

  “My guys are. I’m a spacer.”

  “You like to tell me what the fuck is this all about? Forty-six years I’ve been with Matrix, and this is first time anyone’s taken my ship off me.”

  “I’m sorry about that; I really am.”

  “Sorry?” Horda snapped. His cheeks flushed red with anger. “That helps.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “I don’t give a damn for your reasons,” Horda said, his voice a half shout now. “You have no right to hijack my ship, none at all. I’d like to kick your ass.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Michael said; Horda’s belligerence irritated him. “But it won’t happen. Now you’ve got a choice. You can sit there mouthing off at me, in which case I’ll throw you in one of the storerooms and leave you to rot, or you can shut your mouth, sit back, and let me tell you why we’ve taken your ship. Your choice.”

  Horda choked back his response with an obvious effort. “Go on, then; tell me,” he said, taking a deep breath. “But I want the truth, okay?”

  “You’ll get it. First of all, we’re not from Kelly’s Deep.”

  “Didn’t think you were. The accent wasn’t right.”

  “It’s hard to mimic. No, we’re Feds.”

  “Feds?” Horda’s eyes widened. “In that case you’d better tell me what this is all about, Johannes.” He stopped and stared at Michael for a moment. “Wait,” he went on. “Smuts isn’t your real name, is it?”

  Michael grinned. “No, it’s not. I’m Michael Helfort,” he said.

  “The Michael Helfort? I thought you looked familiar, but I just couldn’t work out why. I’ve seen you on the news. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

  “I am.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Sit back and I’ll tell you as much as I can,” Michael replied.

  “… and like I say, I’m sorry we have to destroy your ship, but given what’s at stake, I don’t think I can afford to be too sentimental.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Horda muttered; his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I’ve been Starlight’s captain for twenty-two years. I hate the thought of what you want to do to her.” He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. “You know the worst of it?”

  “No, what?”

  “I’m Scobie’s born and bred. I loved the place … once. But now?” He shook his head. “I hate it. I’ve watched the Hammers turn the place into a cesspit with their corruption and sleaze. I never go dirtside anymore. This-” He waved a hand around the saloon’s well-worn paneling. “-is our home now.”

  “You said ‘our.’ Your first mate and chief engineer; they feel the same way you do?”

  “They do. We might not own the Starlight …”

  Thank goodness for that, Michael thought. I feel guilty enough as it is.

  “… and I know she’s old and might not look much to you, but this is our home, and now you want to destroy it.”

  “I wish there was-”

  Horda put a hand up to stop Michael. “You don’t have to say it, son. If it’s any comfort, I hate the Hammer too. Doesn’t stop the hurt, though.”

  Michael nodded; he did not trust him
self to speak.

  “So,” Horda went on, “what’s the plan and how can we help?”

  Michael stared at the man. “Help?” he said. “You want to help?”

  Horda shrugged. “Why not? I can’t change anything, and to be honest-” He looked around. “-maybe it’s time I moved on. Matrix was taken over last year, and the new owners are way too close to the Hammers for my liking.”

  “How does the rest of the crew feel?”

  “Marty hates the management. They think he spends too much on the old girl. It’s bullshit, of course. He only spends what he needs to keep her safe, but they don’t see it that way. Money’s all those bastards care about. They’ve been making his life a misery.”

  “What about Rajiv?”

  “He’ll go with the flow. Always has.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “It’s strange, you know,” Horda said, looking away at something that existed only in his mind. “We were talking about that only the other day. We’d just done a run to Vatuna-6. Nice place. Lots of jobs for guys like us … and no Hammers within hundreds of light-years. So who knows, we might go there.”

  “Well, I hope it works out for you.”

  “It will. Not sure about you guys, though. I’ve heard a lot of dumb ideas in my time, but what you want to do is just plain crazy.”

  “Needs must, Captain. Believe me, if there was another way, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “And what makes you think what you’re doing will work for you?” Horda asked.

  Why is the bastard looking so smug all of a sudden? Michael wondered with a twinge of concern. “Oh, don’t worry; it will,” he replied, forcing himself to sound both relaxed and confident.

  Horda shook his head. “I’m sure that’s what Kalkuz told you, but did the asshole tell you that Matrix ships have a backup protocol to validate all changes of command?”

  I don’t like the sound of this, Michael thought, concern turning to alarm. “What backup protocol?”

  “Oh, dear.” Horda shook his head. “Kalkuz is not a man you can trust. I could have told you that.”

  “Don’t screw me around,” Michael spit. “If you’ve got something to tell me, then tell me.”

  “You have to repeat the entire process within two hours. If you don’t, you’re locked out and stay locked out. The Starlight will only do what we tell it to do.”

  “Shit!”

  “And it gets worse. Next time we drop into normalspace, the ship automatically broadcasts a message telling every man and his dog there’s been an attempted hijack. That will bring the cavalry, I would think. Let me see … yes, our next drop is when we cross Brooks Reef, so it’ll be the Hammers who turn up.”

  Michael’s guts had turned to ice. He cursed his stupidity. Not only had Horda just blown his last chance to get back to Commitment clean out of the water, now he knew more about his plans than he should. If Horda opened his mouth …

  “Now, young man,” Horda went on. “We have eleven minutes left before you lose control of the Starlight forever, so-”

  “If you fuck me around,” Michael snarled, “I will kill you and the rest of your crew. There’s way too much at stake here.”

  “I’m not sure you’re the natural-born killer you’re pretending to be, but noted,” Horda said; he did not look even slightly concerned.

  “Captain!”

  “Oh, all right. I’d like to help any way I can. Of course, that means you have to trust me, but since I have you by the balls, I don’t think you can afford not to, do you?”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “Oh, I am, but only because I don’t like people taking my ship away from me. No, no.” Horda’s hand had gone up to forestall Michael’s angry response. “I understand why it’s necessary, I really do, so don’t waste time repeating yourself.”

  “Fine.” Michael tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Give me a minute, Captain.”

  He stepped outside the saloon and put a comm through to Shinoda. “You following this?” he asked her when she came online. The tension on her face was obvious.

  “I am.”

  “Talk to Kalkuz. Ask him if the old buzzard is lying and if there are any more protocols we should know about. Tell him that I’ll dump him out the airlock unless he’s straight with us.”

  “Wait one.”

  Shinoda was gone less than a minute. “He swears Horda’s telling the truth, but there is a duress code word as well.”

  “Which is?”

  “It’s ‘ultimate’ in lowercase. You need to key that in as well, and the ship really is ours.”

  “Got it.” Michael stepped back into the saloon. “Let’s go,” he said.

  With ten minutes to go, an icon in the center of the command console’s holovid screen was flashing a lurid red. “Now what?” Michael asked Horda.

  “I have to enter the command authority code, then do the DNA and retina checks.”

  “Do it.”

  When Horda finished, the icon vanished and the screen went blank. I’ll give you another ten seconds to tell me about the duress code, Michael thought, and then I will kill-

  “One last thing,” Horda said, “is a code word to make sure I’m not being forced to do this-” He chuckled as his fingers flashed over the keypad. “-which of course I’m not. There, done.” He stepped back. “The Matrix Starlight is all yours.”

  “It better be,” Michael said, grim-faced.

  “Relax. I could have screwed you, but I didn’t, so let’s move on. I suspect you’ve got a lot to do and not much time to do it in, so let’s see what we can do to help.”

  Thursday, June 24, 2404, UD

  Brooks Reef

  The man’s face loomed large on Captain Horda’s holovid screen. The bridge filled with the flattened vowels of a native-born Hammer. “Scobie’s World mership Matrix Starlight, this is Hammer Warship Sapphire of Kraa. Chop vidcomm channel 67. Over.”

  “Sapphire of Kraa, Matrix Starlight. Going to 67. Out.”

  There was a short pause before the Hammer officer’s face reappeared. Tucked safely out of view, Michael held his breath. The Hammers had no right to stop and search the Starlight, but they might. They had never worried too much about the niceties of international law.

  “Matrix Starlight, Sapphire of Kraa. Transmit ship ID and flight plan on datacomm 441, over.”

  “Starlight, roger, stand by … Okay, Sapphire of Kraa; you should have it now.”

  “Confirmed, stand by … You are cleared for transit, Starlight. Be advised that any deviation from your flight plan will result in the use of deadly force without warning.”

  “Matrix Starlight, acknowledged. Out.”

  Horda cut the link without any of the usual niceties. He sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. “Assholes,” he muttered. “Okay, Michael, you can come out now. We’ll comm Matrix about the instability in the pinchspace generators once we’ve cleared the reef. It’s in our house code, so the Hammers won’t take long to crack it, but we’ll be in pinchspace by then.”

  “Good. There’s nothing I can do here, so I’ll be down in the cargo bay if you need me.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Michael left Horda to ease the Starlight into the queue of traffic waiting to cross Brooks Reef, a slash through the fabric of space-time hundreds of light-years across but less than half a million kilometers deep, a gravitational anomaly that no ship could transit in pinchspace and survive.

  The cargo bay was a hive of activity. Helped by the first mate and the chief engineer, Shinoda and her marines were cutting the Starlight apart, the pieces pushed into towering heaps around the massive cargo bay door. Michael nodded his approval. If the Hammers were to be distracted long enough for him and his marines to survive, the more debris the better. He beckoned Shinoda over.

  “This looks good.”

  Shinoda looked around. She nodded. “You said you wanted 500 cubic meters of junk, so we’re got a ways to go y
et, but we’ll get there.”

  “I’m still worried about getting a decent spread. All that stuff is no good if it stays in one big clump.”

  “I know,” Shinoda said. “Fifty kilos of plastic explosive would have come in handy.”

  “Yeah, it would. I think I need to talk to Marty again.”

  “You do that. I’ve got a ship to shred.”

  Michael waited for Marty to finish. With exemplary forbearance, the chief engineer was busy explaining to Marine Prodi why using a laser cutter in close proximity to a high-pressure hydraulic system was a bad thing. Laser cutter … hydraulics; an idea popped into his head. That might do it, he thought.

  When Marty had satisfied himself that they weren’t all about to be killed, Michael took him to one side.

  “What pressure do you keep the ship’s atmosphere at, chief?”

  “A bit under three-quarters of normal atmospheric pressure.”

  “What’s the hull rated to?”

  “Ah, now there’s a question.” Starlight’s chief engineer thought for a minute. “Test pressure is two atmospheres,” he went on, “but she’s designed to cope with three, though I think that’s optimistic given her age.”

  “And can you boost the pressure in just one compartment, say, this one?”

  “Sure.”

  “And the cargo bay door will still open despite that overpressure?”

  “All our doors and hatches have to. It’s a safety requirement.”

  “Is your hydraulic fluid flammable?”

  “Of course it is,” Marty snapped. “You think those penny-pinching management assholes would let me buy the good stuff?”

  “How much oxygen do you carry?”

  “Oxygen?” By now Marty looked completely baffled. “Um, let me see … We have reserves of 4,000 cubic meters in cryogenic tanks. That’s at one atmosphere, of course.”

  “Sounds like a lot.”

  “It is, but we’re certificated to carry eight crew and forty passengers. We have to be able to keep them alive for three weeks if we have problems with our carbon dioxide scrubbers.”