Without Mercy

by Eric Thomson

  “Welcome aboard the privateer ship Persephone, Officer Fennon. And yes, you may enter.” Dunmoore waved at an unoccupied station. “Sit. You’re probably wondering why the fancy costumes now when we didn’t use them with Kotto Piris and his gang, right?”

  Carrie nodded as she sat.

  “Simple. The only people with whom Kotto Piris’ folks came into contact were Sergeant Saari’s villainous mercenaries and a few ship’s officers who could belong to anyone. Kilia will be a more difficult target since I intend to go ashore with a suitable escort under the guise of looking for work. And that means anyone who might be seen by outsiders, including the bridge crew, should we establish video contact, must look the part.”

  “Understood, sir. If you prefer, I’ll change right away.”

  “Later is fine. As long as it’s done by the time we drop out of FTL at Kilia’s hyperlimit in about three hours. Did you sleep well?”

  Carrie hesitated, then shook her head.

  “The bunk is way more comfortable than my own in Katie, but I’ve slept nowhere else in years, so I spent a lot of the night tossing and turning. However, the wardroom served an amazing breakfast, and the officers were kind to me, though none of their clothes looked like yours.”

  “Yet. But they will the next time you see them. Or most will. Commander Halfen and his engineering crew spend their days in black coveralls whether we’re sailing as a Navy vessel or whether we’re pretending to be a privateer.”

  “Are Commander Cullop and the relief crew also disguised?”

  “If you mean more than simply as the civilian spacers you last saw, then no. I don’t intend to take Kattegat Maru closer in than the hyperlimit so she can jump out at a moment’s notice in case things turn against us.” Anticipating Fennon’s next question, Dunmoore said, “Should anything happen, Commander Cullop will go to a meeting point on the edge of this system and wait twelve hours. If she doesn’t hear from us by then, she’ll take your ship to the nearest starbase.”

  “Oh.” Carrie Fennon seemed torn between the desire to follow Dunmoore and keep an eye on her family’s ship.

  “Emma will make sure no one touches Kattegat Maru until I — we — return.”

  “Good.” Fennon, clearly eager to join the crew in doffing her uniform to become a false privateer, jumped to her feet. “With your permission, I’ll return to my quarters now and change, Captain.”

  “Please do so and join me in my day cabin for a cup of coffee afterward.”

  A timid smile crept across Carrie’s face.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  **

  “Kattegat Maru is still keeping station but has gone silent. I doubt Kilia picked up her emergence signature so close to our larger and fully visible one,” Chief Yens reported shortly after carrying out her usual post FTL checks. “I can make out six ships in orbit, one of which shares general characteristics with the fragmentary sensor log images we recovered.” She let out a muffled curse. “There’s also a damned Shrehari corsair.”

  “And we know at least half of all Shrehari corsairs are Imperial Deep Space Fleet or Tai Kan intelligence-gathering ships,” Sirico said.

  “If not more, Thorin. This adds an interesting twist to our situation. Two sworn enemies at the same outlaw station. Although Kilia would insist on keeping this system neutral, and if Renny is correct, can enforce said neutrality at least out to the maximum range of its guns.”

  “Good thing we came in as Persephone and not the Commonwealth Starship Iolanthe,” Holt remarked from the bridge. “Does that corsair change your intentions, Skipper?”

  “No. Unless they’re somehow involved with the Kattegat Maru business, in which case we may no longer be talking about simple piracy by humans. Mind you, because they’re Shrehari and perhaps even Imperial Fleet, if I see a chance to destroy them, I will. But not around here.”

  “We’re being hailed, sir. Audio only.”

  “Kudos to their sensor watch for spotting us so quickly at this range.” Sirico’s voice held grudging respect.

  “It stands to reason, sir,” Yens said. “If trouble is coming, they’ll want to know the moment it drops out of FTL.”

  Dunmoore made a go-ahead gesture at the signals petty officer.

  “Put them on.”

  A flat female voice of undetermined origin came through the CIC speakers.

  “Unknown vessel approaching Kilia Station, identify yourself and state your business.”

  “This is the mercenary ship Persephone, and I’m Captain Shannon O’Donnell. We heard Kilia is a good place to find private military contracts.”

  “If you can afford our docking and transaction fees, it can indeed be a good place to find a contract, Captain O’Donnell. How will you be paying?”

  Dunmoore cocked an amused eyebrow at Thorin Sirico. Straight to the point.

  “Precious metals.”

  “That is acceptable. Please listen to the following. Our guns will cover you at all times. We will meet any hostile act with instant force. Kilia and its star system are neutral in the war between the Commonwealth and the Shrehari Empire. As a result, we will not tolerate acts of aggression between visitors from either entity. The minimum punishment for violation of our rules can include fines, forfeiture of cargo, or ejection with no right to return. Maximum punishment can entail destruction. All decisions are final. There is no right to appeal. I will shortly transmit a copy of the Kilia Station Regulations. Do you understand and accept these conditions? If not, you are free to leave the system.”

  “I understand and accept them.”

  “Thank you, Captain O’Donnell. You may approach and enter Kilia orbit. We will provide further instructions upon your arrival.”

  After a moment, the signals petty officer said, “They dropped the link, Captain.”

  “Not much for small talk, are they? Give me Kattegat Maru.”

  Emma Cullop’s smiling face appeared soon afterward.

  “I assume you’re off and we’re playing invisible starship?”

  “Indeed. I don’t know when we’ll be able to speak again. It would probably be too risky calling you from Kilia, but keep an eye on the place. It looks as if there’s a Shrehari corsair in orbit and it more than likely means undercover Imperial Fleet.”

  Cullop made a face.

  “Wonderful. As if we need the added complication.”

  “So if you see us do something sudden and unexpected, head for the rendezvous point.”

  “Will do.”

  “Take care, Emma. We have an apprentice officer here who really wants to board her ship again.”

  “No worries, sir. Go get ‘em.”

  “I aim to do so. Iolanthe, out.”

  **

  Up close, Kilia Station appeared unprepossessing. Built inside a potato-shaped asteroid forty kilometers long and eight kilometers wide spinning on its long axis, almost nothing of the habitat was visible to the naked eye. It took up only a small part of the interior where early surveyors found an extensive cavern network, much of it filled with ice, alongside seams of valuable ore.

  Its most prominent artificial surface feature was the large opening that marked the entrance to the main shuttle docks. But Iolanthe’s sensors found a dozen gun emplacements, eight missile launchers and twenty-four shield generators cunningly camouflaged by low domes that blended seamlessly with the surrounding rock.

  As proved by Iolanthe’s threat detectors, Kilia’s own sensors studied the Q-ship with undisguised interest as she approached the station and entered orbit.

  Of the other ships present, five came from human shipyards and resembled Kotto Piris’ Kurgan. Sleek, capable of landing in an atmosphere, with oversized drives and plenty of gun blisters, they were not primarily designed to haul bulk cargo.

  The sixth couldn’t be mistaken for anything but Shrehari. Its shape was too reminiscent of the Imperial Deep Space Fleet’s basic design, an elongated wedge with broad, almost wing-like hyperdrive nacelle pylons. But co
ntrary to naval vessels, it bore elaborate markings instead of the military’s stylized dragon. Or what human eyes interpreted as one.

  Chief Yens let out a soft grunt.

  “Folks around here must be trusting. None of those suspiciously piratical tubs are giving off the power emissions you’d expect from ships at high alert. But they are looking us over. Especially the bonehead. He’s no corsair. You can take that as a given. His sensor signature comes from Imperial standard-issue electronics.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe we’re within touching distance of a fucking bonehead and not at battle stations.”

  “And he’s probably stewing with impotent frustration at being within touching distance of a fat, untouchable human prize.” Sirico grinned at her. “That’s the joy of a neutral port which can enforce its rules.”

  “Aye. Perhaps we can wait for him at the edge of the system once we’re done here. And then...” Yens made a chopping gesture at the main display. “One less Shrehari intelligence-gathering garbage scow.”

  Dunmoore gave Sirico an amused glance.

  “I’ll keep the suggestion in mind, Chief.”

  “We’re receiving instructions,” Holt said from the bridge. “And not just for our parking orbit. Since this is our first visit, they’re demanding a representative come ashore to meet with the Kilia administration and pay a deposit on the harbor fees as a gesture of goodwill. We must do this within six hours of entering orbit. Otherwise, we’ll be told to leave. No doubt with a few large bore plasma cannon poking up our skirts.”

  An ironic smile creased Major Salminen’s usually earnest countenance.

  “Truly a money-making proposition, this rogue outpost.”

  “Please prepare a shuttle, Zeke. I’ll go ashore with the harbor fees in an hour.”

  “And with a suitable escort,” Holt said. “To include Vincenzo, because excluding him is ill-advised, Chief Guthren, because he said so and he’s the chief of the ship, as well as a platoon from E Company.”

  “Sergeant Saari’s platoon,” Salminen interjected.

  “He seems to draw every interesting assignment these days.”

  “This time, it was luck. The platoon leaders played a hand of poker to decide who goes ashore with you first, and Karlo won.”

  “Gambling? In my ship?”

  She put on a feigned expression of shock.

  The soldiers shrugged. “It was poker or drawing straws, and poker is more entertaining for spectators.”

  — Fourteen —

  The knot of people waiting by one of the shuttles on Iolanthe’s spacious hangar deck came to attention in unison when Dunmoore walked through the inner door. Two of them, Leading Spacer ‘Vince’ Vincenzo, bosun’s mate and Dunmoore’s self-appointed bodyguard, and Chief Petty Officer First Class Kurt Guthren, Iolanthe’s coxswain stood out from the rest.

  Guthren was a barrel-shaped man whose close-cropped blond hair and short gray beard framed a worn but kindly face that reminded many of a favorite uncle — until he let the ferocious side of his personality take over. Watchful brown eyes beneath thick brows tracked his captain’s approach.

  Vincenzo, by contrast, was lithe, almost wiry, with dark, wavy hair, a luxuriant mustache, and an intense gaze. Both wore their adaptation of a privateer’s dark-hued quasi-uniform. But where most of the crew appeared villainous, Guthren and Vincenzo came across as menacing, an impression strengthened by the oversized blasters and long-bladed knives hanging from wide leather belts.

  Sergeant Saari and the dozen soldiers from 1st Platoon, E Company, on the other hand, had the appearance of solid, disciplined mercenaries. They wore dark green uniforms with subdued mercenary-style rank insignia derived from those of the Commonwealth’s regular Armed Services, as well as light body armor and load-bearing harnesses. In addition to pistols and knives, they carried either a plasma carbine or a scattergun and plenty of spare ammunition and power packs.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Dunmoore called out as she came within earshot.

  A reply, belted out by good-humored voices speaking as one, crashed over her with unexpected force.

  “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Who has the precious metals to pay our deposit?”

  Guthren raised his hand. “Vince and me, sir.” He gestured at the small, black pack slung over his shoulder. “Lieutenant Biros figured it would be better to split the stash in two. Less conspicuous that way.”

  Joelle Biros, Iolanthe’s supply officer, was the guardian of their untraceable funds, precious metals included. What the coxswain didn’t add, because he knew Dunmoore would understand right away, was that their carrying the funds gave them a perfect excuse to always be at her side.

  “Vince and I are also amply supplied with listening devices,” he added. “We can seed the place for sound at will. If they’re not running active countermeasures, of course.”

  “Somehow, I doubt they’ll be able to block the latest in surveillance tech. Even the Navy outside special ops doesn’t know it exists. Who’s flying us?”

  As if on cue, a smiling face looked out through the shuttle’s thick cockpit windows, and a hand waved in greeting.

  “Eve Knowles,” Guthren unnecessarily said, since Dunmoore recognized the petty officer, one of the bosun’s mates qualified as a pilot.

  Dunmoore waved back, then asked, “How did you choose which of your platoon’s sections were coming on this mission, Sergeant Saari? Poker?”

  The soldier gave her a toothy grin.

  “Shooting competition in the simulator between the section sergeants, sir. Games of chance are for command ranks only. We wouldn’t want to corrupt our juniors.”

  “Very considerate, I’m sure.” She let her eyes run over the assembly, then said in a louder voice, “We don’t know what’s waiting for us in there. But Kilia Station makes its profits by providing a space where shady beings can conduct business without fear of getting shot. However, General Order Eighty-One is in effect. If things go pear-shaped, Commander Holt will not risk the ship to rescue us. Consider your weapons and menacing scowls as props designed to give those with evil intent second thoughts, and give me added prestige as the leader of a secretive, but highly effective mercenary force. Opening fire will be the last resort. If something happens to me, Chief Guthren is in charge of the landing party, and he will immediately take you back to the ship. Any questions?”

  A hand shot into the air.

  “Yes, Corporal Vallin.”

  “What happens if we run across Shrehari assholes in there? Those fuckers rained a crap load of hurt on Scandia before we kicked their bony butts back into space.”

  “Avoid them, ignore them. Pretend they don’t exist. Any boneheads you see are probably our counterparts, undercover Deep Space Fleet officers and ratings, or worse yet, Tai Kan. They won’t be anxious to start something with humans in the first place. And please do nothing that might provoke their ticklish sense of honor. We’re here to find Kattegat Maru’s missing crew and passengers, not hunt Shrehari.”

  “So we can’t combine business and pleasure, then?” Vallin asked, earning himself a few amused chuckles from the ranks.

  “Sorry. Not this time. Any other questions?” When no one else raised a hand, she gestured at the shuttle. “Climb in. Let’s go sightseeing.”

  **

  As they neared it, Dunmoore realized the entrance to Kilia Station’s hangar was huge. A careful pilot might even thread something the size of a standard sloop through the opening. It posed no challenge for Petty Officer Knowles.

  Once inside, a traffic control droid with the name Persephone on a display panel as broad as the shuttle led them to a berth with a flexible gangway tube that seemed to vanish through a smooth stone wall.

  Though they saw at least a dozen small spacecraft sitting at various docking stations, including one that could only be Shrehari, the immense, brightly lit hangar cavern seemed empty.

  Shortly after Knowles set her shuttle down to the traffic control
droid’s satisfaction, which it expressed by erasing the ship’s name from the display panel and trundling off, a gangway tube stiffened and snaked out. It settled precisely over the starboard personnel airlock with a muted thump. A few moments later, Knowles gave Dunmoore, who was sitting in the cockpit beside her, thumbs up.

  “It’s pressurized and I’ve unlatched the door, sir.”

  “Thanks. Once I’m out of the cockpit, seal yourself up, just in case. I’ll leave a few of Sergeant Saari’s men behind as a safety precaution.”

  “Please make sure one of them isn’t Vallin, Captain. I don’t want to hear his complaints for however long you’ll be ashore.”

  “That would be Sergeant Saari’s decision.”

  “Wonderful.” Knowles made a face. “Karlo still hasn’t repaid me for the prank I pulled on him at the last noncoms’ all-night card tournament.”

  Dunmoore raised a restraining hand, but smiled nonetheless.

  “I don’t want to hear about it. There are entirely too many games of chance going on in my ship.”

  She climbed out of her seat, crossed over into the passenger compartment, where several soldiers waited by the starboard airlock for permission to exit, and gave Saari the nod.

  At his order, alpha section’s point man pulled the door in and to one side with the ease of a veteran Marine, showing once again how well E Company of the Army’s Scandia Regiment had adapted to its new role aboard a starship. The first pair cautiously entered the tube, looking for anything suspicious as they made their way to the far side.

  While she waited for her escort’s signal to exit the shuttle, Dunmoore finally noticed the less than one gee gravity imparted by the asteroid’s spin. She felt just that much lighter which, after months in space living in a steady one gee environment, was a fresh, almost uplifting sensation.

  The point men vanished into the station-side airlock and Saari sent out the next pair. A voice came over Dunmoore’s earbug, set to the landing party’s frequency.